


Strange Days Indeed

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 87,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle are kidnapped by an old enemy of Bodie's, who's out for revenge.</p><p>Please note this story deals with male rape and contains scenes which may be triggery for some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set in the early 1980s, hence the lack of devices we take for granted now.

Bodie watched with a jaudiced eye the rivulets of rain running down the car window; it had not let up for two days. Still, at least he and Ray were in the dry, small comfort though that was. Obbo duty in the middle of January wasn’t his idea of a good time. No one in their right minds sat for hours in a condensation-filled car when there was nothing but sparrows and cows to watch. He was bored out of his skull and with Ray in this mood he had the worst of both worlds. At least he could have talked to himself if he was working solo. There was no point in talking to Doyle, not unless he wanted a fight on his hands. Giving an audible, hard-done-by sigh, he reached into the glove compartment and slipped out a small flask, from which he took a luxurious swallow.

"I'm surprised you've got any of that left," Doyle said in a tone of sour disapproval.

Bodie's sunny smile was calculated to annoy more patient souls than Ray Doyle. "It keeps the cold out. Here, have some."

About to refuse, Doyle thought the better of it. He choked after his first mouthful. "It's neat," he wheezed, just before his tongue flicked out to capture the drop which had escaped to rest on his lower lip.

Distracted, Bodie tore his gaze away. "Of course it is. You don't catch me diluting good Scotch."

Doyle handed back the flask and glanced at his watch. "Maybe you should start. It's time we heard from Lucas and McCabe, isn't it?"

"There's another ten minutes to go yet," said Bodie peaceably.

Doyle gave him an irritated glare. "You'll be telling me you've been enjoying surveillance duty next."

"Not much danger of that," Bodie assured him.

Doyle stared morosely down the wet hillside to the white farmhouse nestling below them and picked up the binoculars from the dashboard. "I could build this bloody house from memory. How long have we been stuck at this now?"

"This is the sixth day."

"Is that all? It feels like forever."

"You're telling me. God created the world in seven days."

Doyle gave a heartfelt groan. "That's all I need, you getting delusions of godhood."

"Shouldn't that be head?"

"Eh?"

"Godhead," said Bodie patiently.

"Don't ask me, mate, you're the one with religious fervour. Cowley's losing the plot on this one," said Doyle moodily. "Michaelson won't be coming here now."

Bodie gave a reminiscent grin. "I couldn't agree with you more. Do you want to tell Cowley again, or shall I do it this time?"

"Very amusing," said Doyle, all out of gladiatorial bravery.

Three days ago he had ventured a mild - by anybody's standards - query about their assignment. In no mood to have his judgement questioned, Cowley had let rip. By the time he had finished telling them exactly what he thought of them they had reeled, shaken, into the nearest pub, needing to reassure themselves that they had not actually been perforated. As far as Doyle was concerned Cowley had developed a fixation about Michaelson, an IRA liaison man whose contacts with Arab terrorist groups had led to a steady flow of weapons and explosives arriving in the country. IRA links with the Arabs were usually tenuous, based on expediency and mutual contempt. Michaelson had a number of personal contacts and carried on a brisk trade with them. For that reason Cowley was anxious to see him and his highly efficient team of couriers, removed from the picture. The farmhouse below belonged to Michaelson's widowed mother; Cowley had hoped he would find the lure of home and mother irresistible as he passed through London. The possibility had always been a faint one and the fact that Cowley had kept some of his best men on a twenty four hour surveillance job showed how badly he wanted Michaelson.

Bodie spent the next five minutes in some tuneless whistling and Doyle began a wistful comparison of the various forms of homicide. The radio crackling into life saved him from experimenting with some of the most picturesque.

The whistling stopped as Bodie picked up the handset. "3.7."

"3.5. We're in position, out."

"Don't get cramp trying anything too athletic. Out." Bodie switched off the radio before Lucas's ribald riposte could arrive.

Bodie replaced the handset and gave a lengthy stretch, arching his torso, before he subsided on the seat once more. "All this sitting around is wearing me out." He gave Doyle a look of reproof. "Well, you heard the man. Home, James, and don't spare the horses. I've got a busy evening ahead of me. I'm just glad we're on days again, night jobs play hell with my love life."

Doyle gave a hard laugh as he started up the engine, the car an inconspicuous, dented brown Ford he had drawn especially for the job. "What are you doing tonight? Or should I say who?"

"Shouldn't that be whom?" enquired Bodie, relieved at the signs of a thaw.

"I haven't got a clue," said Doyle with cheerful unconcern.

"Yeah, I've noticed your distressing tendency to vulgarity in the past. Her name's Sheridan," Bodie added with evident relish.

"That's an unusual name, pretty. What happened to Karen?" Doyle was losing track of Bodie's girlfriends. Over recent weeks they had been changing every three or four days, some lasting no longer than one night. Supercharged, Bodie seemed intent on working his single-minded way through all the crumpet London could offer; anyone would think imminent famine loomed on the horizon.

Bodie waved away the subject of Karen as an unwanted irrelevance. "Sheridan's a very unusual girl. You should see how she - "

"I don't want to listen to this," Doyle groaned, in no mood to hear about Bodie's heroic endeavours.

"I was going to say, plays darts," lied Bodie, his mouth prim.

Doyle's sideways look spoke volumes.

"Amongst other things," Bodie conceded, as if Doyle had spoken. "I've given her the Bodie seal of approval in any event. What are you doing tonight? You've been keeping yourself pretty quiet recently." Now he thought about it, the last bird he could remember Doyle showing any real interest in was Anita Cabreros and she'd been a while back.

"Minding my own business," Doyle said curt rebuff as he took a corner too fast. The last six days had reinforced his growing conviction that it was possible to spend too much time in anyone's company, particularly an ebullient Bodie. Possessing a low boredom threshold, Bodie was normally bloody murder on a stakeout. But not this time, thought Doyle with a trace of bitterness. Oh no, this time Bodie had taken every boring second with sunny good humour.

About to reply in kind, Bodie spared Doyle's scowling face a quick glance and thought the better of it. He wanted a nice quiet ride home with no temperament, not when he was going to be stuck in this car with Doyle for the foreseeable future.

Drawing up at the traffic lights, conscious of the silence next to him, Doyle glanced at Bodie's expressionless face. "Sorry," he offered, his attention back on the road. "Sore point. Got stood up, didn't I." Not quite the truth, but Bodie needn't know that. Besides, how did you begin to explain that it just didn't seem worth the bother any more?

"Ah," said Bodie wisely. Well, that explained Ray's less than joyful manner today. But what about the last few weeks? he wondered. He wasn’t much given to analysing relationships, either his own or other peoples, but something had gone sour in their partnership and he was at a loss to know what to do about it. He hadn’t got a clue what had caused it and had no intention of broaching the subject with a Ray Doyle who, at best, sat in a taciturn silence.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Doyle on a surge of aggression, aware that Bodie had been watching him like a hawk and not caring for the survey at all. Bodie didn't miss much.

"Nothing, nothing," denied Bodie, experiencing a prickle of irritation.

"Don't give me that. You've been nosing round me all day. Are you that hard up for cheap thrills?"

The reference was an ugly one, reminding Bodie of another argument over another woman. Ann Holly had been nothing but trouble from the first. "All right," he snapped. "You want to know what's wrong, you are. It's time you got yourself straightened out. Tonight would be best. You've always been a poison-tongued bastard but never this bad and I've had enough of it! Find yourself some nice warm bird who won't give you any hassle. From the sounds of it, you could do with a good fuck. Clear the tubes, get your head together."

"What makes you the expert in what I need?" demanded Doyle with a dangerous calm. The car came to an abrupt halt outside Bodie's flat.

"Forget I spoke."

"No, come on, if you've got something to say get it off your chest."

When Bodie swung round to face him, his expression was one of icy disapproval as his hard gaze raked Doyle. "Plenty, but nothing you'll enjoy hearing. You've been a pain in the arse for weeks. Silent suffering's never been your style, you like everyone else to suffer with you and I've had all of it I'm prepared to take. I'm fed up with making apologies for you to anyone stupid enough to have wanted to speak to you in the first place. If it's something I've done that's pissed you off, tell me. If it's the job, tell me. Persecution complex, fine, tell me about it. I don't give a fuck what the problem is, just so long as you talk about it! I'm tired of pussyfooting round your miserable carcass and I've had enough of you snapping my head off every moment of every bloody day. Get yourself straightened out, or get out. But do it fast, because I've had you, up to here!" His hand moved in a chopping movement, then was still.

Doyle had rarely seen that look on Bodie's face, and never directed at himself. He found he didn't know how to deal with it. It wasn't often Bodie let rip, and never with him. The force of his anger was an almost physical presence in the confined space of the car.

Doyle knew that one of his biggest faults was that he often said things he didn't mean, his over-quick temper overriding his brain. Bodie never did that. Shaken out of his self-preoccupation, he sat feeling oddly bereft as he tried to come to terms with the sensation of having been closed out. He tried to cover his disorientation with an anger to surpass Bodie's but could find none.

"I'm sorry," he offered at last, not meeting Bodie's eyes.

"Sorry! That's supposed to be enough, is it?"

Doyle looked up then, aware of the inadequacy of what he had offered. As usual he had been taking things out on Bodie. He could hardly complain if the worm decided he'd had enough and turned. "No, but it's all I've got," he said simply. "I've got into the habit of taking things out on you, I know that."

The admission made Bodie blink in surprise. "I had noticed," he said, recovering. He wasn't in the mood to make it easy for the bad-tempered little sod.

Doyle stared at the dashboard, seeing with extraordinary clarity the traces of dust on it. "So why do you put up with it?" he asked, his tone subdued.

"How the hell should I know? I just got used to it, I suppose. You've always been a moody little bugger," Bodie added, disconcerted by the unblinking gaze searching his face. He glared back, refusing to soften to the unspoken appeal. He was tired of being treated like a door mat.

"Yeah." After chewing on his inner lip for a moment Doyle said cautiously, "Do you want to pack it in?"

"Pack what in?"

"Us, as partners."

One glance confirmed that Doyle was serious. Wondering how they had got to this stage with so little warning, Bodie took his time replying, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "Do you want to?"

"Of course not."

"Then why the fuck should you think I do?" demanded Bodie, nearly shouting as relief washed dizzily through him.

"I dunno," Doyle conceded vaguely, before he gave a half-wry, half- embarrassed grin. "Maybe you should try yelling at me more often."

"You couldn't have been daft enough to believe everything I..." Bodie's voice trailed away when Doyle gave a small nod.

"You daft sod," said Bodie roughly. About to say more, he fell silent at the look of confused unhappiness he saw on Doyle's downbent face, which could look so deceptively defenceless. Only today it was real and he had never been able to stand seeing Ray look like that. Besides, he was as tough as old boots, most of the time. This was just one of those other times. Reaching out, he gave the tense arm hooked over the steering wheel a friendly shake.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked but his reluctance showed. He was as involved with Doyle as he wanted to be - too involved.

"You've not heard from Ann again, have you?" Bodie asked abruptly.

"Ann?" Doyle looked vague, then remembering, relaxed. "No. That's long finished. She won't be back. It was never me she was really interested in, you know. Just what she thought she could change me into. She's history." For all his matter of fact tone Bodie thought he heard a certain wistfulness.

"I'm bloody glad to hear it," he muttered. The thirteen days Anne Holly had been with Ray had been the worst of his life.

"Why?"

"Why d'you think? Or do you imagine I enjoyed seeing you go through the emotional wringer? Look, do you want to talk or not?" Bodie demanded in a belligerent change of subject.

Hearing that familiar note of rough concern Doyle gave a faint grin and lightly punched him on the arm. "As an agony aunt you make a great CI5 agent. There's nothing to talk about, mate, except me making a bloody fool of myself."

"Not for the first time," Bodie told him comfortably.

"Or the last I expect. It must be all this sitting around getting to me."

"Yeah." Unconvinced Bodie made no attempt to leave the car. "You want me to see if Sheridan's got a friend?"

" _No_." There was an unwarranted vehemence in Doyle's refusal. Aware of it, he gave a reassuring grin. "No, thanks. I'll do my own talent scouting. I wouldn't want to cramp your style. You'd better get a move on or you're going to be late - and you need all the help you can get."

His expression unusually serious, Bodie stared at him, before he nodded and slid out of the car, satisfied that the status quo was in a fair way to being restored. "On the contrary, the poor girl doesn't stand a chance against my charm. You know where to come if you want some lessons. Don't forget to pick me up tomorrow morning. And don't be late this time," he added, slamming shut the door.

His face alight with laughter, Doyle was about to give him two fingers when he noticed the elderly couple only a few feet away. He modified his ribald riposte to an innocuous, "Goodnight, Prince Charming.."

Bodie grinned and ran up the steps to his front door.

When Bodie disappeared from view Doyle sat staring at the door for a few moments before he drove away. Determined to try Bodie's prescription, he was beginning to suspect that it wouldn't solve a thing.

 

Bodie strolled around the front of the car to open Sheridan's door for her, only to discover she had already got out and was smoothing down her dress. She gave him a mocking grin, five foot nothing of long blonde hair and angelic blue eyes.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that women can open doors all by themselves these days, Bodie?"

He swallowed his rising irritation and gave her a look of intense sorrow. "It has been mentioned. They play darts and drink pints of Guinness, too," he acknowledged, disenchanted to discover he had a supporter of female emancipation on his hands. "Your team did well tonight. It was a very thrilling match."

Her smile broadened as she divined the reason for his sulky manner. "I told you I had to play. Quite apart from the fact I wanted to, it was a charity tournament. I couldn't let the team down. You didn't have to come - but I'm glad you did," she threw back at him as she strolled across the road.

His attention caught by the movement of her hips, it was a moment before Bodie had the wit to follow her. Immensely cheered by the sight of her slender legs and provocatively displayed rump swelling against the silky fabric of her dress he decided to forgive and forget, although his growling stomach still held a grudge.

"I thought we'd be going out for a meal afterwards. I didn't realise the game would last all night." A packet of salted peanuts and a dry Scotch egg had been no substitute.

About to snap some retort, Sheridan looked up and in pausing was lost, finding his disconsolate expression irresistible. Slipping her arm through Bodie's, she said lightly, "Well, the torment's over now. And I know something we can do, even at this time of night. You should be aware that I cook the best breakfast this side of Watford."

"Watford, eh?" Happy to be convinced, Bodie opened her front door, returned her key with a flourish, then bent to claim his reward.

 

In the shadows across the street a man watched the entwined couple move into the girl's flat and one, then two lights go on. Satisfied, he slipped away to find a telephone box that was working.

"It's Ken, Mr Davis. He's taken a bird back to her flat and they've gone inside. It looks like he's settled in for the night. Do we take him now?"

Listening, his expression soured. "Yes. Continue surveillance of Bodie and his partner. Yes, Mr Davis."

 

Lying against the pillows, his head cradled in his cupped hands, Doyle stared sightlessly across the shadowed room, thinking of nothing in particular while he listened to the quiet sounds of the woman sleeping beside him. The soft press of breasts and warm belly and the slightly moist brush of wiry hair were all pleasantly familiar and brought their own comfort, soothing his abstract melancholy.

Sleep refused to overtake him.

"Hey, Ray. Why the sad face?" asked a soft, sleepy voice, some time later.

Blinking in the half-light of dawn, Doyle's expression lightened as he turned to take in the appealing picture she made. "Me? Happy as the day is long," he assured her. Sliding a hand down her sleepy warmth, he grinned when she stretched, arching to greet his touch.

She leant up on one elbow to stare at him, a slow smile appearing. "Once I'm awake I never get back to sleep," she told him, easing closer.

"Shame that," he told her gravely, "because I have no bother at all." He closed his eyes.

Warm breath travelled damply around his body, lingering in all the predictable places to ensure she gained his full attention. Then she was nuzzling his ear lobe, biting gently on it as a slender thigh tucked between his.

"Bet you can't sleep this morning," she challenged, wanting to earn that crooked grin again.

It appeared as he raised his head the better to look at her. "What d'you bet me?"

"Dinner for two at Eatons," she replied promptly.

"I've got a huge appetite," he warned her, closing his eyes again.

"That's all right," she said with happy confidence, "so have I." Her finger followed the soft line of his body hair, pausing to explore his navel and beginning-to-twitch belly muscles.

As time went by Doyle was forced to concede that Gabrielle wasn't given to exaggeration. And in the process his unease of recent weeks was forgotten in her welcoming warmth that asked for and expected nothing but uncommitted enjoyment.

 

"Bodie, for pity's sake," pleaded Doyle as Bodie launched into song again, knowing no more than the first two lines of Adam and the Ant's _Prince Charming_.

"What's wrong with me expressing my pleasure in life?" Bodie demanded, all hurt innocence. He waved a negligent hand in the direction of the sun-dappled fields still glistening with the heavy morning frost as they sped past. "It's a beautiful winter morning, all _deep and crisp and even_. Herds of cows are busy turning grass into milk and it even looks as if the sun might actually have some warmth in it later."

"There's nothing wrong with you expressing your pleasure in life, just your singing," Doyle told him with more truth than tact.

"Charming," sniffed Bodie. Uncrushed, he launched into a stirring rendition of _Bye Bye Love_ , made all the more impressive by the fact that he knew the whole of the first verse.

Resigned to his fate, Doyle joined in. The resultant discord made them both wince before they grinned in perfect accord.

"You're looking better this morning," Bodie said with approval.

His mood light and sparkling, Doyle spared him a surprised glance then, remembering the scene between them of the day before, pulled a face. "I feel it," he admitted with a small grin of satisfaction.

"You took my advice then," said Bodie sagely.

"What?"

"Some warm bird. I always say you can't beat it." Bodie gave a sigh of sheer well-being. "I was right about Sheridan, too. She is a dab hand at darts."

"Bull's eye was it?"

"Nothing so coarse." Bodie's display of dignified restraint was ruined by his reminiscent grin. "Treble twenties no less."

They had been watching the quiet farmhouse for almost an hour when Doyle said, "Mind you, I wouldn't know if you could beat it or not."

Dozing in the sunshine, Bodie opened one eye. "Eh?"

"Birds," said Doyle laconically.

Bodie opened his second eye. "What about 'em?"

Doyle's patience was monumental. "I said that I didn't know if there was anything better than a warm bird because I haven't tried anything else."

There was a short, disconcerted silence.

"Not much else left," said Bodie finally, closing his eyes again.

 

oOo

 

"Come on, sunshine, let's have a bit more snap, crackle and pop," Doyle urged, as he leant over to unfasten the door to the passenger seat.

Bodie gave him a look that comprised disgust and malaise in equal proportions before he slid into the car, easing the door to a close.

"Quietly, please?" he said in a near whisper, giving an exaggerated wince as a motorcycle roared by. He took dark glasses from his inside pocket, slipping them on, he sank down on the seat as far as the leg-room allowed and gave a shuddering sigh as he settled against the headrest.

Doyle's expression was all spurious sympathy but the car drew away from the kerb smoothly enough. "Good night, was it?"

Bodie just mumbled his assent.

"Thought it must've been," continued Doyle chattily. "I haven't seen you look this wasted for months. What have you been up to?"

By no means as ill as he looked, Bodie slid the sunglasses down his nose, peering over them like some bloodshot academic. "How old are you, Ray?"

His attention given to the welfare of a suicidal cyclist, Doyle said, "Thirty three." A moment later he thought to add, "Why?"

A comforting arm slid around his shoulders as Bodie gave him a quick hug. Doyle caught a pleasing waft of soap, leather, toothpaste and Bodie.

"Listen, my old son, someone should have explained a few things to you, you'll have a lot of catching up to do." Bodie kept his expression grave in the face of Ray's narrow-eyed puzzlement. "Do you remember a few changes taking place about twenty years ago?"

"Eh?" Light dawned. "Oh, you mean when I discovered what my right hand was really for? You daft sod - and you get off, you're pulling my hair."

Bodie's mouth drooped at this rejection before it quivered uncontrollably and lifted into a happy grin. He looked about sixteen. "While we're on the subject, you're a bit slow yourself this morning. What have you been up to then?"

Doyle gave one of his disconcertingly throaty chuckles, the sound rippling through his listening partner. "I certainly didn't get much sleep," he conceded, too used to Bodie's interest in his love life to take any notice of the query.

"Aha."

"Far from it, Sherlock. There was a fire in the flat above Gabrielle's. By the time we'd put it out and got the old dear upstairs calmed down it was half four," Doyle informed him as he navigated the narrow lanes that had come to seem so familiar over the last eight days.

"So you didn't get - "

Doyle nipped Bodie's spurious sympathy neatly in the bud. "Oh yeah, we managed that, no problem. Just didn't get much sleep," he explained with a sunny smile, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"God, but you're coarse. I was going to say - " The crackle of the radio interrupted Bodie. Giving it a look of affront he made no attempt to take up the handset.

"4.5," announced Doyle with resignation.

"Message from Alpha One. Michaelson sighted in Armagh. Mission aborted, repeat aborted. 3.7 and yourself granted three days leave, starting today."

"Understood. 4.5 out." Drawing the car to a halt, Doyle saw his own thoughts mirrored on Bodie's pensive face. "I'll just bet George was thrilled by that."

"The poor bastards stuck back at Base must be getting some stick. Still, three days leave can't be bad, can it, even if the miserly old sod did include today."

Neither of them made any reference to Michaelson, or to the aborted mission. Sometimes you got a lucky break, sometimes you didn’t, they’d get him, one day.

Doyle re-started the car. "I may as well drive to that lay-by round the corner. It wouldn't do to go scratching the paintwork on the hedge."

"Room to turn a Rolls-Royce down here," Bodie judged authoritatively.

"Oh yeah? You want to turn it here, then?"

"It's not my week for driving," protested Bodie virtuously.

Honour satisfied on both sides, they drove on.

"What are you planning to do with our time off, spend it with Sheridan?" His tone nonchalant, all Doyle's attention was ostensibly given to the deserted lane.

"No way. She's on nights."

"You don't normally go for nurses," said Doyle, faintly surprised. He gave a choke of laughter at Bodie's silent look of reproof.

"I hadn't planned on fixing up another evening," Bodie added, in a tone that told Doyle all he needed to know about that particular relationship.

"It's about time you settled down a bit," Doyle lectured, his tone severe. "You've been hopping from bird to bird for weeks."

Disconcerted by this untypical interest in his social activities, Bodie moved into the attack before Doyle decided to undertake one of his in-depth investigations. "Neither have you," he reminded him. "In fact half the time you've been featherless. Not a usual state of affairs for you."

"They say a change is as good as a rest," dismissed Doyle. "With three days leave it'll be worth doing something. I think I'll take Keith up on his offer to borrow the cottage and get in some walking."

"Want any company?"

"There's only one pub and no barmaids," Doyle warned.

Bodie gave him a look of mild reproof. "Man does not live by barmaids alone. What, are you taking Gabrielle and don't want my company - or am I just being sensitive?"

Doyle gave a snort of derision. "Now that," he said with conviction, "is something I'd like to see. Gabrielle flies out to Dubai tonight. I don't suppose I'll see her again. We can go back to my place to give Keith a ring. He was in the Station last week, behind the desk."

"Then you can give me breakfast. I'm starving. Look out!" Bodie yelled as a tractor lurched out of a concealed entrance directly in front of them.

Doyle slammed on the brakes, wrenching the wheel around and ramming the car against a high grass bank. The car stopped with its slewed front wing only inches from the huge rear mudguard of the tractor.

His hangover forgotten, Bodie unpinned himself from the dashboard and flopped back in his seat, winded from the impact. "Close," he said unnecessarily, giving the tractor a slit-eyed look of disapproval. "Crazy bastard, don't they have a Highway Code out here in the sticks?"

"They probably can't even read," said Doyle sourly.

The tractor blocked the narrow lane entirely. The engine still growling and juddering, the driver jumped down and came across to the car. "Are you all right?" he asked, in a soft, blurred accent that neither of them could place.

Doyle wound down the window and gave him a vicious glare. "We're fine, no thanks to you."

"Sorry about that, sir. We don't get much traffic down here at this time of the morning." The man went round to examine the front of the car and pulled a face.

"Oh bugger," sighed Doyle, interpreting that look without difficulty. Cowley would hang them - him - out to dry if the car was badly damaged, seeming to take such accidents as a personal affront. Expecting the worst, he clambered left the car.

Bodie swore under his breath, made to follow him and was forced to slide across the driver's seat, having discovered his door was jammed against the bank.

"Looks like we'll be needing to raid our piggy banks this time," he said, brushing past Doyle to get to the front of the car. "I can't see much wrong," he began, stopping abruptly when he heard an all too familiar click of a safety catch being released behind him. He turned, his hand already firm around the handgrip of his holstered Smith & Wesson.

"Don't," the tractor driver advised them.

Staring down the barrel of the .357 Magnum pointing at his belly, Bodie didn't. Doyle, gun in hand, let it drop to the ground.

"Hands on your heads." The voice was crisp and precise now, all trace of country burr gone.

Bodie glanced at Doyle and saw his expression change. Following his gaze, he watched two armed men emerge from a gap in the hedgerow. He raised his hands, linking his fingers behind his head, knowing without needing to look that Doyle would be doing the same.

"Turn around and face the car."

The ensuing search was swift, through and personal. Legs wide-spread, their arms were yanked behind them and handcuffs clipped home.

"You can turn around now."

All obedience, their eyes watchful, they found themselves staring down three gun barrels; none of the faces above them were familiar.

Although it was late in the day to move into his innocent passer-by routine, Doyle opened his mouth, prepared to try anyway.

"Over there both of you, and keep quiet."

There seemed no future in arguing with an unwavering Magnum and neither of them tried. As they crossed the rutted, frost-hardened track, they slipped and stumbled, icy puddles cracking under their feet, until they reached a filthy Land Rover with a horse trailer attached to the back. The vehicles had been hidden from the road by the high bank and hedgerow, which despite its lack of leaves at this time of year provided an impenetrable wall of entwined brown growth.

"Get into the trailer and sit down, backs against the ramp," the tractor driver ordered. When they had done so the other two men clambered in after them, and closing the open door, drew home the bolt. Visibility was poor. For a while nothing happened, then they heard some confused engine noises and shouts as the tractor and car were moved off of the road.

Doyle felt a surge of dull anger as he remembered he had even left the keys in the ignition. This abduction was a professional job. The trailer lurched into motion, throwing him into Bodie.

After a while they stopped trying to sit up and lay where they were in the hope of escaping further bruising. Their two guards, who were able to support themselves, did not move or speak throughout the long journey.

 

As the trailer door groaned open, winter sunshine spilled in making Bodie and Doyle squint in the bright light after the prolonged gloom. At a jerk of the gun held by the tractor driver they rose to their feet, made awkward by cold-stiffened muscles.

"Out," the driver ordered, standing clear as they jumped down on to the gravelled drive.

They found themselves staring at a reproduction Tudor manor, complete with small latticed windows and a dove-cote. In the distance undulating lawns made way for woods; close at hand were what smelled like stables.

Bodie and Doyle exchanged a baffled glance. Taken round the side of the house, they caught sight of a huge, indoor swimming pool, beyond which, through the glass walls, they could see the broad stretch of lawn, the grass sweeping down to a river. Instinct taking over, they catalogued all visible input for future reference without even realising they were doing it. Once past the swimming pool, they entered a long, low outbuilding of solid brick, which proved to be a well-equipped gymnasium. Their booted feet echoed hollowly as they crossed the polished floor boards and Bodie realised that their escort had all exchanged their filthy Wellingtons for rubber-soled shoes.

"You, Bodie, turn around, back against the wall."

Taken aback by the use of his name, Bodie checked that he was the one being addressed before doing as he was ordered. His feet apart, hands still cuffed behind him, he adopted the at ease stance and eyed the three men with a cold disdain which, he hoped, concealed his apprehension. This had been a slickly professional abduction.

The tractor driver holstered his gun and moved behind Bodie, taking care not to get in the line of fire.

Mindful of the armed man at his back, Doyle remained stock still, watching with growing unease. These men knew exactly what they were doing and were too wary for any of their standard tricks to work. And he didn't care for the fact they knew Bodie by name.

Unlocking Bodie's handcuffs, the tractor driver produced another set from his pocket and positioned Bodie so that his arms were stretched out at shoulder height, locking him by the wrists to the uprights of the wall-bars. Standing pressed against slatted wood, his shoulders forced back and his arms at full stretch, the position was immediately uncomfortable. The only sign Bodie gave was that his expression became even more uncommunicative.

Expecting the same treatment, Doyle drew a deep breath but found himself ignored.

"Watch them," the tractor driver ordered his companions. "I'll go and tell him it's been done."

Doyle saw Bodie was staring into the middle distance, ignoring him and everyone else. His apprehension grew. Their abductors knew Bodie, knew of them both by the careful way they had been approached and guarded. The whole operation spoke of money and a professionalism that left Doyle with a cold feeling down his back. He remembered Krivas, now safely tucked away in Parkhurst, but that didn't stop him having contacts on the outside.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of shoes crossing the gym floor. He half-turned to see the tractor driver accompanied by another, slightly younger man. The stranger was dressed casually enough in jeans and a checked shirt, but they were designer jeans and the tailored shirt clung to his torso, emphasising his muscled build. With his dark brown styled hair and angled face he was handsome enough but there was something disquieting about him, an unnerving hint of wildness. His vivid, light blue eyes fastened on Bodie with a hungry fascination.

"Hello, Bodie," he said easily.

Bodie stared blankly at him. "Do I know you?"

Stepping closer, the man gave a laugh in which self-congratulation and excitement were mixed. "Come on, Bodie. Ten years isn't that long ago. Although I suppose I had a beard in those days. I remember you _very_ well." There was a sickening anticipation in his voice.

Bodie's narrow-eyed stare changed to a look of total revulsion before he managed to control his expression, but the fear remained in the back of his eyes. "Davis. Gary Davis. I hoped you were dead! _You_ set this up?"

Davis smiled with lazy triumph. "As you see. Worked like a dream didn't it? You must be getting trusting in your old age, Bodie-boy. But I always was a better commander than anyone would give me credit for. Besides, I've got some good men on my team." He gestured broadly around him. "As you can see, I've moved up-market since we last met."

Bodie's eyes never left Davis' face. "You're trying to tell me all this is yours?"

Davis' smile became fixed. "It's my employer's. But as his right-hand man I get free run of the house and its facilities. He's a good man to work for." A disquieting note entered his voice. "He let's me _indulge_ myself from time to time."

"Yeah? Is he into ten year old girls as well?"

And suddenly the atmosphere was charged with violence.

A powerful backhander rocked Bodie's head against the wall-bars and started a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Doyle's instinctive move forward was stopped by a soft warning from his guard.

Davis stroked his thumb across Bodie's split lip before hitting him again. He was smiling, his eyes glowing with a near-sexual heat.

"I lost track of you, Bodie. So you can imagine how delighted I was when I caught a glimpse of you in the Blue Flamingo a couple of months ago. It was no trouble tracing you after that. Quite the hotshot, aren't you? Still, you always fancied yourself as that."

"What's this all about, Davis?" asked Bodie, seemingly unmoved by the blows or the venom in the other man's voice.

"Revenge."

"For what? You got away with it, didn't you?"

Behind the sick loathing on Bodie's face Doyle recognised the fear.

Davis' white-toothed smile faded. "Oh, yes, I got away with it - if you can call it that. Except that when I got back home I found no one wanted my services any more. I couldn't even get back into my old outfit, let alone the regular army. You'd been busy, Bodie. Slack-mouthed. Me with my record and no one wanted me."

"Of course no one wanted you, you psychotic bastard. You're a nutter, a no-hoper. Just because you made it out of Biafra, do you think word didn't spread? You were notorious."

Davis hit him, twice. "C'mon, Bodie. Not so bloody righteous. One wog brat less doesn't matter a damn."

"Why do you think you didn't get picked up for a second term - and that was before you murdered that kid? You would have been topped for her if we hadn't been attacked that night. God knows we weren't a choice bunch but your tastes were too ripe for any of us."

"Yeah, well if you'd kept that mouth of yours shut no one would have known about that brat. I could have got into the SAS and - " Regaining belated control, Davis stopped.

" - carried on where you left off in Biafra?" Bodie snarled, too infuriated to be able to think of placating the other man.

Seeing Davis tense, Doyle decided it was time to enter the fray. "Past history," he soothed. "It looks like you've done all right for yourself now."

Whirling round, Davis moved to where Doyle stood in four strides. Doyle wondered if he had merely redirected the violence to himself and tensed. Davis just glared at him for an unsettling few seconds before his taut features relaxed into an expression Doyle didn't care for at all.

"Not badly no, Mr Doyle. You see, I even know your name, Ray. Or is it Raymond?"

It was no comfort for Doyle to see Bodie acknowledge his presence in the gym for the first time. His glare was one of angry disapproval, but the fear behind it made Doyle long to be in a position to reassure him. Whatever history Davis and Bodie had, he would keep Bodie safe.

"You and Bodie have been partners for quite a while, haven't you?" Davis asked into the silence.

"A while, yes," Doyle acknowledged, his expression meek, his body language as devoid of challenge as he could make it. Bodie was right, Davis was a mad bastard. Doyle wished he had paid more attention to the psychology lectures at Hendon.

"A while? Cagey, Ray. Very cagey. Give nothing away, eh? Like it to be taken from you, do you? We can do that. We can do anything I want. But you're right. I have got a nice little number here, all things considered. Mr Angetti keeps me and feeds me - he even lets me kill for him now and then. If you like being a guard dog it's a wonderful life. A guard dog on a very short leash." Davis bit the words out then took several steadying breaths before glancing over at the man guarding Doyle. "Take the cuffs off of him. Come on, you heard me."

"This wasn't in the plan, Gary," the tractor driver said quietly, his dark eyes watchful.

"Tony, I brought you into this to hold a gun and keep your mouth shut. Doyle and I are going to try a little unarmed combat. We'll see how good CI5 training really is."

"Your argument's with me, Davis," protested Bodie harshly. "Ray's got nothing to do with what's between us."

"Ray yet," noted Davis.

"Leave it, Bodie," said Doyle, a hard edge to his voice. "I can take him. I won't be tied to a wall while he tries knocking me around."

"Don't bet on it." Bodie could remember the kind of fighter Davis had been ten years ago. He was an expert in unarmed combat who got his kicks from making a kill last as long as possible. He had been one of the best then and he looked in the peak of physical condition now.

"You worry about yourself," Doyle advised him with a confidence he wished was genuine. He pushed the doubts away, concentrating on his opponent as the handcuffs were released. Warily flexing his stiffened arms and shoulders, he was conscious of the three guns trained upon him, Bodie's sigh of exasperation and Davis' smile of anticipation. He ignored them all, focussing on essentials like staying alive.

Davis might be a sadistic bastard who got his jollies from inflicting pain but he wasn't Superman. There might be a chance he could exploit. Doyle knew he would have to be damn lucky. The guards, unhappy that he was free, were watching him like hawks. That, combined with Bodie's warning and the fact he'd never been better than average at unarmed combat, didn't give him a whole lot of confidence.

Positive thinking, he reminded himself grimly.

Davis gave him a few moments to ease away the stiffness. Balanced on the balls of his feet, he came barrelling in fast. Reflex enabling him to counter that attack, Doyle discovered just how good the other man was. Pivoting, Davis lashed out, straight-legged, at Doyle's unprotected groin. Off-balance, Doyle just managed to compensate, taking the booted foot on his thigh instead. He staggered but recovered his balance, his face a mask of concentration as he drifted out of reach.

Bodie had warned him, Davis had just reinforced that warning. No more underestimating him.

Refusing to be intimidated by what he had just learnt, Doyle moved into the attack with a drop-kick. Twisting, Davis took the force on his shoulder and spun round, off-balance. As Doyle closed in Davis surprised him by holding his ground and sending a right hook at Doyle's face: he had been more in control than seemed possible. Although the punch contained less force than it might have done, Doyle staggered back, tasting blood. He did not fall. He dare not, to do so would give Davis all the advantage of his superior weight and skills.

Doyle already knew himself to be outclassed, Davis was faster, stronger, and in no hurry to end his sport. His only hope lay in taking the attack to Davis when he could, but otherwise playing a defensive game while he tried to wear the bigger man down. The gym was large enough to move round in, with no mats to worry about.

As Doyle weaved and dodged Davis floated after him. There was a strange expression on his face, half-snarling, half-dreamy.

He's sighted blood, recognised Doyle. He rolled clear while looking for a weakness he could exploit.

Handcuffed against the wall-bars, Bodie watched the fight with growing frustration. Davis' quarrel was nothing to do with Ray, but he would beat him to a pulp just for the joy of it. Doyle was hopelessly outclassed, the only surprise that he was still on his feet. But unless he was very, very lucky he was going to get a pasting. Davis was toying with him, letting him exhaust himself. From the expression on his partner's already marked face, Bodie realised Doyle knew it but was hanging on in the hope that Davis might get over-confident. Why Ray couldn't have kept his mouth shut...

Bodie's fear grew, afraid of how badly Davis would hurt Doyle before the fight was over.

When the end came it was obvious to onlookers where Doyle had gone wrong, although it must have happened too fast for him to appreciate. The fight had gone on for almost fifteen minutes and he was tiring; he was the one having to do most of the running about. Weaving backwards he miscalculated the size of the gym and found himself too close to the wall. Grinning, Davis landed a haymaker which spun Doyle around; already falling, it was soon over. Moving in, Davis delivered three vicious chops to the kidneys then slammed Doyle back against the wall, his fists moving like pistons against Doyle's unprotected belly.

Bodie heard his partner's sounds of pain, saw Doyle's face contort at the last blow before his head slipped forward as he lost consciousness. Pinning the limp figure upright Davis did not seem to notice. Wrenching Doyle's head back by the hair he began slapping his face, each deliberately placed blow marking already bruised skin.

While Doyle was in less danger from this kind of attack, Bodie winced as each blow landed, his fingers curling into helpless fists. He resisted the temptation to close his eyes. Imagining what was happening would be even worse than the reality. He nearly choked on a plea for Davis to stop, knowing from experience that would only spur him on to further excesses. So he kept quiet and watched Doyle suffer. He did not realise he had sunk his teeth into his bottom lip until he felt the new flow of blood on his chin.

Finally tiring of his sport, Davis released Doyle and watched him slump unconscious to the floor. Stepping back, Davis kicked him in the groin. He stared at the twitching body for a moment, breathing heavily, before he paced across the gym to where Bodie was pinned.

"No stamina, that was his trouble," he said, when his breathing had slowed. From the hint of colour in his face and the glow in his eyes he could have been enjoying a session of sex.

"Want to try it with me, you bastard? At least I'm up to your weight. Or can't you face the thought of an opponent your own size?" sneered Bodie, knowing he was a better dirty fighter than Ray would ever be, unencumbered by Doyle's sometimes inconvenient moral streak.

Davis shook his head and gave an unexpectedly sweet smile. "Oh, no, Bodie-boy. I've got other plans for you. Besides, maybe you could take me at that. It made you angry seeing Doyle get his, didn't it?"

Bodie's expression promised slow death to anyone foolish enough to release him.

"Well, well, well. See, Tony, I told you there was a reason for bringing Bodie's partner along."

Tony's mumbled reply lacked conviction.

Impatient, Davis turned to the guard nearest to Bodie. "Dave, get him - " he jerked a contemptuous thumb in Doyle's direction " - back over here and cuff him to the bars. I'm going to change, then I have to pop out to see to a little job for Mr Angetti. Make sure there's someone here with them at all times." He waited only for the nod of confirmation before giving Bodie another brilliant smile. "Don't go away now," he mocked, before he padded out of the gym.

 

Doyle crept back to consciousness with the sensation of being dragged across the floor. He had no idea where he was or why anyone should be doing that. He didn't care. It hurt too much. He heard moaning and belatedly realised it was himself as he felt a hard ridged surface thud into his back. When his wrists were hoisted above his head he gave a choked cry and fainted.

 

Recovering consciousness in slow stages, Doyle lacked the energy to open his eyes; his head slumped as he waited for the pain to subside to a more manageable level. After a while his brain started to function sluggishly.

Judging from the mass-of-pain sensation he had been beaten up. As his awareness of his surroundings increased, the pain clarified into two kinds, the unbearable and the unspeakable. It hurt to breathe. He could hear the soft whimpers he was making without being able to subdue them. The worst of the pain was above his left kidney, his belly and his groin. He frowned. Odd that, he didn't remember anyone putting the boot in, and it wasn't the sort of thing you forgot in a hurry. He knew a moment's panic that everything would still be in working order.

With each slowing pulse of pain his memory improved. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the mad light in Davis' blue eyes. The bastard didn't even know him so god only knew what he had planned for Bodie. That thought enabled Doyle to open his eyes. His vision blurred by rapidly swelling flesh, it took him a moment to focus. The first thing he saw were bars, only inches from his face. He managed to lift his head slightly and saw that his hands were cuffed to the corner of one set of wall-bars, which were digging into his bruised side.

Fidgeting, he tried to find a more comfortable position to ease the cramp in his shoulders. When he tried to pull himself upright he discovered his mistake too late. Moaning he slumped again, red-streaked unconsciousness looming.

"Are you all right?"

The worry in Bodie's voice was all the spur Doyle needed. He tilted his head back in the direction the voice had come from. He found himself looking up a familiar pair of cords housing strong thighs. Bodie was still spread-eagled against the bars. From the expression on his face Doyle realised he wasn't the only one suffering with cramp. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring grin and succeeded in reopening the cuts in his split lip. Giving a ferocious sniff, he winced and decided to try out his voice.

"Uh, yeah. No," he admitted, seconds later.

"Well, that's a decisive enough answer," Bodie replied, trying to keep his voice light. Ray looked terrible. One side of his face was swollen and bloody, angry marks giving an indication of the bruising to come, otherwise he was sweating and grey.

"Christ, I feel rough," Doyle mumbled into his arm.

"I'm not surprised. Davis really did a number on you." Bodie's voice hardened. "Maybe next time you'll do as you're told and keep your mouth shut."

Doyle glared up at him.

"Vague hope," Bodie conceded with an affectionate grin, knowing he would have done exactly the same thing had their positions been reversed.

"Too bloody right," Doyle agreed, his voice stronger now. "But it's a shame you had to hang around."

Bodie groaned. "Your jokes don't improve with the passage of time."

"Nothing but complaints."

Doyle was starting to take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that they had only one guard - Ken? "Where's Davis gone?"

"He popped out to see to a little job for Mr Angetti," Bodie said in the manner of one quoting. "Can't let pleasure get in the way of business."

"How long?"

Bodie stared across the gym to where Ken sat. "How long?"

Glancing down at his watch, Ken shrugged. "Just over two hours. Not that it makes any difference to you."

"You never know," murmured Bodie.

"Strewth, was I out all that time?" exclaimed Doyle, surprised.

"After the way he laid into you I'm surprised you've come to at all," Bodie told him, worried by Doyle's ragged breathing and putty-coloured skin. "A month in hospital's more what it looks like."

"'S what it feels like, too." Doyle's breathing shuddered as he shifted position and his eyes scrunched shut. Almost a minute passed before he was prepared to trust his voice again. "Kicked in the crown jewels, was I?"

"Yeah." Bodie's voice was tight with remembered rage.

"I hope he hasn't broken anything."

Bodie felt another ripple of helpless rage as he heard the pain in Doyle's uneven voice. "No way," he dismissed, with an airy confidence he was far from feeling. "Built like a brick outhouse you are, made to last."

"At least I don't look like one." Doyle peered upwards again. "Listen, I caught some of what went on between you and Davis in Biafra. The kid he killed. You want to tell me about it?"

"No."

Doyle did not have the strength to insist.

"On the other hand, why not?" said Bodie into the silence, his voice barely carrying to the man at his feet. He launched into speech without further preliminaries, producing the bare bones of memories of a period of his life in which he took no pride.

"When my outfit joined up with the main body of men Davis was there. We soon learnt to steer clear of him. He's a psycho and it doesn't look as if he's changed for the better. A few days into the tour we camped near this village. I was on watch the first night. It was my first tour in the bush and I was scared of my own shadow. You've never seen anything as dark as the African bush, unless there's a full moon. That night there was just star shine. I heard this terrible noise coming from a clump of trees. I thought it was an animal. Then it came again, louder. And again. And again. Eventually it got to the point where I found the guts to investigate. Anything to stop the noise. It was Davis with what was left of a young kid from the village. He'd... She was dead by the time I turned up. All of ten years old. She looked like an animal had got to her."

Doyle sat very still. Whether it was Biafra or London some things didn't change. Only in London they called for a copper to clear up the mess.

"I was young and so green I was still wet behind the ears," continued Bodie with deceptive briskness. "Instead of sticking my rifle up the bastard's arse and pulling the trigger, I rushed off to report him to the CO. Discipline wasn't army tight but even we had limits."

"The CO didn't do anything?" said Doyle quietly.

"There wasn't time. A message had come in that the enemy - I can't even remember who they were at that time - had broken through. We took a hammering, lost a lot of men. I was too busy trying to stay alive to give Davis a thought. As he'd disappeared, I thought he'd been killed - or captured. But I still spread the word about what he'd done. No one deserved to be stuck in the bush with him without knowing what kind of man he was."

"From what he was saying you stopped him getting a job over here." Doyle could imagine how much that terse recital had left out. He knew his Bodie.

"Somehow that doesn't help much."

"You did what you could," Doyle told him firmly. "OK, so it wasn't enough. Suppose you had recognised what Davis was doing and arrived while the girl was still alive? What physical shape would she have been in after he'd finished butchering her? And with no hospitals, or medical facilities, the poor kid wouldn't have had a chance. It wasn't your fault."

Bodie drew a sharp breath. "How did you know I - ? I tried to forget it all. I certainly forgot Davis. I thought - hoped - the bastard was dead. I left Africa as soon as I could and moved on to Jordan."

"I don't blame you for trying to forget. Anyone would. At that age I was swanning around Art College, thinking myself no end of a lad."

"Best place for you, mate."

"You're telling me." Doyle wanted to keep Bodie's mind off whatever Davis might have planned for him. "The name Angetti rang a few bells. Am I right in thinking he's one of the Mafia's main men in Britain, with a cover as a top flight executive?"

"That's him. A job as Angetti's right hand man would be right up Gary's street. I bet he could teach the Mob a thing or two. He ought to be thanking me for finding him this perfect little niche for his talents, not this." Gritting his teeth, Bodie tried to flex his shoulders, seeking to ease the agonizing cramps.

"He scares me shitless," he mumbled almost inaudibly. "He always has - and he knows it."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. For Bodie to admit as much the effect must be bad. He tried to get closer to him. He was still trying to catch his breath from the attempt when the door on the far side of the gym opened.

Davis bounced in, immaculate in a dark suit. Only a faint mark high on one cheek betrayed the fact he had been fighting recently. His expression lightened as he saw the two prisoners.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Doyle with a cheery lack of interest.

"Like I've been kicked in the balls while I was unconscious," said Doyle venomously.

"You haven't lost them completely, I see." Davis eyed him with a thoughtful interest before he shrugged. "Well, I can't stand here chatting all day. Things to do. This is just a brief visit."

"Good of you to spare us the time," remarked Doyle, intent on claiming and keeping Davis' attention from Bodie. Davis terrified him too, but it was the natural reaction of someone handcuffed and helpless facing a sadistic nutter, not a hex that travelled back to his late teens.

Davis was still smiling when he turned to Bodie, as if he was a treat he had been saving until last. "After I've finished with you I'm going to make time for your pretty partner. I'll teach him to respect his betters. But I thought you'd like to know what's on the agenda for tonight."

"You're gonna commit ritual suicide?" suggested Bodie.

Davis threw back his head and laughed, genuinely amused. "While life's so sweet? Tonight you and I are going to have a little fun. We're going to play the game. My Game. I've got some great plans for you, Bodie."

When that gained no immediate reaction, he chided, "You must remember my Game, Bodie-boy. It got quite popular as I recall, amongst some of the older men. Though pretty boys like you weren't quite so keen as I remember."

Satisfied by the sick revulsion Bodie couldn't disguise, Davis gave an exultant laugh. "I thought you couldn't have forgotten. I'll see you in a few hours, then."He stroked down Bodie's cheek, enjoying the way he flinched and then stood terribly still, panic in his eyes.

"We're going to have a wonderful time, Bodie. Just you wait." With a final pat to Bodie's cheek Davis was gone, the door banging shut behind him.

Twisting around, unconscious of his own hurts, Doyle stared up at Bodie in shocked recognition. Bodie looked as close to sheer terror as he had ever see him in all the years they had worked together.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's this game?"

Lost in horrors that had returned to haunt him, Bodie seemed not to hear him.

"Bodie, come on, mate. What is it, this game?"

"The Game," he corrected numbly, giving the word special emphasis. He screwed his eyes shut. "It's - Davis will do it, too."

"Do what?" Doyle all but yelled, various ugly possibilities occurring to him.

When Bodie stared down at him it was with the blank face of a stranger. "Rape," he said with brutal simplicity. "He's going to bugger me."

"Oh my sweet christ." For a moment Doyle thought he was going to be sick, bile bitter in his throat at the thought of that mad bastard turned loose on Bodie.

"That was the name he devised for it, you see," Bodie explained, his voice shaking slightly. "I won't be his first victim by any means. Only this time there won't be anyone to pull him off before it's too late."

"Why did he call it that, the Game?"

"Because that's what it was to him. Find a fresh young recruit, maybe even a desperate innocent who thought he was going off for a shared wank in the bushes. Anyone green enough and weak enough. It didn't matter what gender. I never heard of Davis getting it other than by rape. I don't suppose he can. But I've seen the state of his victims."

Bodie stopped, leaning his head back against the wall bars, trying to control his voice. "He must have got this planned to the last detail. First he makes me watch you being beaten to a pulp, then he leaves us to stew, wondering what's coming next. Next, he tells me, so I've got plenty of time to think about it." There was a distinct wobble in his voice.

"You were only a kid. Did Davis - ?"

"No, he didn't. That's why he's so hot at the thought now. He wants to make up for lost time. He was the exception out there, not the rule. But with no women and months in the middle of nowhere, you either learnt how to defend yourself or you found yourself a protector for a bit of mutual relief. The evenings start early out there and the nights were long and dark." Remembering Davis and the few men like him, Bodie's voice faded away.

His face set with purpose, Doyle swallowed his useless reassurances and began trying to free himself without attracting the attention of their guard.

 

About an hour later, as near as Doyle could judge, Tony returned to relieve their bored guard, Ken. Tony noticed immediately what Doyle had been doing, and sauntered over to check both prisoners' handcuffs. Both men were held fast, although their wrists were slippery with blood.

"Don't waste your time," Tony advised them.

Doyle glared at him through a badly swollen eye. "You do know what Davis has planned for Bodie, don't you?"

"I've got a shrewd idea," replied Tony without emotion. "I was out in Biafra. I heard all about Gary's Games."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it?"

Doyle gave him a savage look. "Listen, if I ever get out of here, I'm going to make very sure it bothers you, more than you know what to do with."

"If I thought there was the remotest chance of that happening that might worry me," Tony replied, his voice still mild.

"Davis is a raving psycho!" Doyle protested, desperate to penetrate the other man's calm acceptance of the situation. "What makes you think you won't be next?"

"I won't be around for long enough. I owe Gary a favour and I don't have a choice how I repay it. My help now makes us quits. There's a lot worse he could have given me to do to pay it off. I won't be expected to watch."

Tony turned away from Doyle's incredulous stare to sink on to the chair Ken had vacated, his brown eyes watchful and intelligent, where Ken had been bored and apathetic.

"By the way," Tony said into the silence, "if you were thinking of using that line with Ken or Dave, save your breath. They're employed by Mr Angetti and he's told them to do whatever Gary says. If they don't they'll be crossing Mr Angetti, and that's not an option anyone survives for long. Besides, Gary is the only one with the keys to your handcuffs, which makes this whole conversation academic."

Doyle glared into space. It had been worth a try, and about as useless as his attempts to free himself from the handcuffs. While they were cuffed and unarmed he was all out of options for getting them out of here. He wouldn't survive against a kid of six at the moment, never mind any of Davis' men. As for Bodie... He watched Bodie through worried eyes. This depressed apathy wasn't at all in character. Bloody hex, Doyle thought savagely. He'd never been able to stand seeing anyone helpless against the odds and this wasn't anyone, this was Bodie. Everyone had some weak spot, something they couldn't stand. Davis and his stinking Game was Bodie's Room 101.

The gymnasium door opened and Bodie's head whipped round, sagging with unconcealed relief when he saw it was not Davis. Tony had risen from his chair, his gun swinging up to cover the swarthy looking man standing in the doorway.

"I expect to be able to walk freely about my own house," said the man in a mild, slightly accented voice.

"Mr Angetti!" Tony lowered the gun. "I didn't realise you were due back today, sir."

"I was not," Angetti acknowledged, moving into the gym. Of medium height, his stocky build made him appear shorter but for a man in his middle fifties he looked in excellent physical trim. "A meeting was cancelled at the last minute." His gaze drifted disinterestedly over the two men cuffed to the wall-bars of his gym. "Davis' little diversion, I presume." He turned back to Tony. "And who are you?"

"Tony Cooper, Mr Angetti. An acquaintance of Gary's. He asked me to help him out for a couple of days."

"He mentioned as much. He also said you are a useful man with a gun. Is that correct?"

Tony's ambitions crystallised in that split-second. "So people tell me, sir."

"It would be helpful to learn if they are correct. I always have work for such men."

"Gary knows where to contact me," said Tony, his smile deferential without being obsequious.

"Good. I may have a task for you within the next two weeks. I shall watch while you assist Gary." Angetti glanced at the two strangers, an expression of wry distaste on his face. "Will Davis want the gym all night? l had hoped to have a workout in here. I find flying very stressful."

"No, sir. He is just finishing a job for you. He should be back within an hour or so to take them out of here."

"Very well. I shall swim until then. Be so good as to let me know when the gym is free."

As Angetti moved away, Doyle, who had seen the spasm that tightened Bodie's face at the mention of Davis' name, sought a means to detain their only hope of salvation. The blank look had left Bodie's face, with luck he would catch on to what he was about to try.

"Well Angetti's certainly everything his file said about him," he remarked to the room at large.

Angetti paused in the doorway, arrested by the sound of his own name.

"I never doubted he would be," replied Bodie, equally casual. "Everyone knows how good our files are."

Angetti turned. "What files would those be?" he enquired.

Doyle gave him a look of feigned surprise. "Your CI5 file, of course."

"CI5?"

"You do know we're both CI5 agents, don't you? Davis wouldn't have forgotten to mention that small detail - or would he?"

Angetti studied him then slowly re-entered the room. "How do I know this is not some pretty invention?"

"Our identification is in our pockets," offered Bodie, hope coursing through him. He was peripherally aware of Doyle's approval.

"Indeed?" Angetti gestured to Tony. "Uh - " Unable to recall the man's name, he motioned to Bodie.

"Cooper, Mr Angetti," Tony reminded him before he practically leapt across the room.

"It's in my top left hand pocket," said Bodie helpfully.

Cooper extracted his wallet and took it over to the Italian, who gestured for him to check the contents. Cooper studied a small card.

"It looks genuine enough. William Andrew Philip Bodie, Number - "

"That is all I need to know." There was an edge to Angetti's quiet voice. "Cooper, did you know Davis intended to bring CI5 agents into my home?"

Cooper shook his head. "No, sir. He told me only that the two men we were abducting would be armed and dangerous."

"I see. Tell Davis I want to see him the moment he returns. I shall be in the pool. I will keep that card."

After the stocky figure left the gym Cooper swung round to Doyle, an admiring smile on his face. "You did that very well. Mr Angetti was not amused."

"How come you're so pleased about it?" Doyle asked. While he could make a shrewd guess, he wanted to establish some kind of rapport with their guard. Not that he could imagine such a tenuous link stopping Cooper from carrying out Angetti's orders, but it was worth a try.

"You think I like being at Gary's beck and call?" Cooper retorted. "Besides, if Angetti decides to dispense with Gary's services he'll be looking for a replacement. I intend to be close at hand."

"I always did like ambitious men," approved Bodie in something approaching his usual tone. "There's no chance of your expressing your gratitude in kind is there?"

Cooper took the question at face value. "It's too soon to take anything for granted but if my first job from Angetti is to get rid of the pair of you I'll make sure it's clean - a quick bullet through the back of the head, right?"

"Oh, cheers," said Doyle sardonically.

"I can think of worse offers," Bodie muttered, a sick dread twisting within him when he thought of Davis.

"What? If there's the slightest chance of - "

"Listen Ray, if it comes to it, I'll take a bullet over Davis any day of the week," said Bodie in a savage undertone.

Doyle's eyes dropped before the desperation so poorly concealed on Bodie's face. "Let's see what happens first, mate."

Bodie did not answer him.

 

The next two hours passed in agonizing slowness and a total silence.

His muscles on fire from the unnatural position he was held in, Bodie had retreated from his surroundings to stare dull-eyed into the middle distance. Having tried to stand again, Doyle was barely conscious.

Engrossed in his thoughts Cooper took little notice of either man. The banging of a door made them all look up as Davis breezed into the room, an anticipatory beam on his face, vitality crackling from him..

Bodie visibly flinched, then stilled, his face mask-like as he clung to the hope that had been growing in him that Angetti would deal with Davis before Davis could deal with him.

"Well, hello, Bodie-boy. Been waiting for me?" Davis smirked as he padded over to him.

"Uh, Gary, before you get carried away," Cooper interrupted, "Mr Angetti's back and he's not very happy. He wants to see you immediately. He's in the pool house."

"Back?" Davis swallowed his surprise. "What does he want to see me about, do you know?"

Bodie took heart from the flash of fear that had crossed Davis' face.

"About these two being CI5, he doesn't like it." Cooper's voice was devoid of expression.

Davis rounded on him. "Did you tell him?"

"No, I did," said Bodie, before Doyle could try and claim credit for something that might earn him another beating. "I didn't know you wanted to keep it a secret."

"You - " Cutting off an expletive Davis took a step towards him, then made a visible effort to leash his temper. "You'll live to regret that little burst of honesty, Bodie. Believe me you will," he promised. But he wasted no more time, hurrying away to find his employer.

The sound of the slamming door echoing around the gym, Cooper sank back into his chair and said, "It looks like it's fingers crossed time, fellas."

 

Angetti was climbing from the pool when Davis knocked on one of the glass doors and stepped into the room.

"Good evening, sir," he said, with what ease he could muster. "It's good to see you back so early."

"Is it?" Angetti spared him a brief, cold glance and pulled on a towelling robe. Seating himself at the poolside table he began to towel-dry his hair. "Shut the door," he instructed, without sparing Davis a glance. He said nothing more until his hair was dry and Davis was fidgeting, then slid Bodie's ID across the table.

"I should like to know the meaning of this."

Davis made a show of examining it. "It's Bodie's identity card," he offered, trying to keep all expression from his voice.

"I had gathered that. What I do not understand is what my personal guard, with whom I entrust the security of my home and family, is doing kidnapping CI5 agents to gratify a personal whim. And, what is more, who compounds that stupidity by bringing them to my home."

Davis hesitated and swallowed hard. He had heard that note in Angetti's voice many times. The end result consistently resulted in him disposing of the recipient of that rage. Despite the clichés about the Latin temperament Angetti had never been known to show any signs of anger, except that his voice grew colder and quieter.

"There is no danger and they pose no threat," said Davis, choosing his words with unusual care. "They have been under armed guard at all times and there was never any chance that they would escape - "

"Or be followed to my house? Or have some distress signal in case of an emergency? There are a dozen possibilities you have failed to consider," said Angetti with silken displeasure. "We are not talking about some Filipino boy who enters the country illegally but two agents from one of the most efficient intelligence agencies in the world. If there is a way of tracing them, CI5 will find it."

With belated wisdom Davis remained silent.

Angetti drew a calming breath. "Because of your lust to feed your perversions and - above all - your stupidity, you have endangered my position in this country."

Davis shifted his weight on to his other foot. "But there is no possibility of - "

"I have no wish to hear assertions you cannot substantiate."

Sweating freely now, Davis remained silent.

Frowning, Angetti stared through his henchman, deep in thought. He had been trying to decide what to do about this man, who was fast becoming a dangerous liability. He had always known Davis' period of usefulness would be limited. His temperament had always been too unstable to entrust him with some of the more sensitive tasks. But for his unexpected return home he might never have learnt of the threat to his own security. His own position within the Organisation was secure enough - while his success rate remained high. Angetti was realist enough to know that situation could change at any time. A farseeing man, he had been considering what other options might be open to him for some time.

His first reaction had been to have Davis eliminated without further delay but there was no profit in permitting irritation to get the better of good sense. He might yet need Davis' peculiar talents for one specific assignment. He would await the phone call from Milan before making his decision. But Davis was near the edge and there was a possibility that he would not be able to function with the required degree of efficiency. In the past, allowing him a free rein for a night or two with some nonentity who would not be missed had been sufficient to steady him for months. That might work again. He had two CI5 agents to dispose of, one of whom Davis wanted. Until he had decided on Davis' future he might as well permit him to have what he wanted. Caution, however, dictated that the agents be kept alive until he had made a final decision. They too might prove to be useful.

"Very well," he said with a measured calm. "I accept what you say."

"Thank you, sir," breathed Davis. Sweat pouring from him, he could hardly believe his good fortune. Renewed confidence made him add, "And Bodie? The CI5 agents?" he amended with haste.

A fleeting look of distaste crossed Angetti's face. "You may continue with your unsavoury plans for them on one condition - I want them alive and suffering from no irreparable damage by the end of it, is that clear? They might yet be of use to me. I should like them removed from the gym, I wish to use it tonight."

Delighted by Angetti's concession, for he had thought he would be ordered to dispose of Bodie and his partner out of hand, Davis gave a delighted beam. "Yes, sir, of course."

Oh, you'll pay for this, Bodie, he promised himself viciously. Indeed you will.

 

Three very different pairs of eyes lifted to stare at Davis as he re-entered the gym. He went straight to Bodie, staring at him for venomous seconds.

"Tony, Mr Angetti wants to use the gym tonight so they'll both have to be moved. Would you mind guarding Doyle while Bodie and I get down to our unfinished business?"

"Er, of course not." Cooper found it difficult to hide his chagrin but he had not given up hope completely. Angetti couldn't be a fool, he must be able to see what a liability Davis was.

Bodie was reeling from the shock of the announcement. He hadn't realised how much hope he had pinned on Angetti getting rid of Davis. The cold sweat of fear prickling down his back, there was a moment when, his guts lurching, he thought he would actually throw up. Then a stinging blow slammed his face against the wall bars.

"That's for telling Mr Angetti you're with CI5," grated Davis, swinging Bodie's head back with another blow. "And that's just a taste of what you've got coming."

Swallowing against the sheer terror threatening to betray him, Bodie stared impassively over Davis' right shoulder, trying to distance himself from what was happening; what was going to happen.

Moving over to the wall intercom, Davis called through on it. "Ken, can you can Dave come to the gym please."

The _please_ was a reflection of his present euphoria. Not only had he smoothed things over with his employer but he had a whole night to spend on Bodie. Maybe longer if Angetti decided not to dispose of them immediately.

oOo

 

Doyle watched his partner with silent anguish. Bodie's marked face wasn't just immobile, it was frozen. He knew how illusory that control was for he could feel the fine tremors running through Bodie, betraying his real state of mind. But then Bodie had cause to be terrified, Doyle reminded himself savagely. He had Davis to live through and knew what he can be capable of. Sick despair washed through him.

A fate worse than death. He finally understood the agony behind the cliché - and why Bodie had seriously considered a bullet in the head to be a preferable option.

Davis started issuing orders the moment Ken and Dave came into the room. Under his direction Dave unfastened Doyle's handcuffs, pulling Doyle's hands behind his back and re-locking the cuffs. Realising that the smaller man was in no state to stand unaided, he dug his fingers in Doyle's jacket collar and heaved. Doyle gave a choked moan and abandoned all thoughts of resistance. Lost in a sea of pain, it required all his concentration just to stay conscious.

Davis laced his fingers through Doyle's hair with a proprietorial pleasure before he dragged up his head. "And I haven't finished with you, either," he promised. On the edge of consciousness, Doyle didn't even hear that threat.

Ready to spring into action the moment he was released, Bodie watched Davis and Tony advance on him through narrowed eyes. Whatever else might happen he wasn't going to Davis' room. Then the cuffs were removed and his body betrayed him. Released from the unnatural position his muscles had been locked in for almost seven hours, his legs buckled, his arms heavy and lifeless falling useless to his sides. Tony and Davis caught him as he fell, twisting his arms behind his back and dragging him to his feet. With a soft sound of fury Bodie felt a set of cuffs snap back home around his wrists.

Neither of the two agents could walk unassisted and had to be dragged up the stairs - literally in Bodie's case. Unable to offer any other resistance, he hung heavily between the two men, willing sensation and co-ordination to return to him.

Davis' suite of rooms were out over the garage complex, isolated from the rest of the house. It was an arrangement that suited Davis and Angetti in equal proportions.

"Bring them both into the bedroom," Davis instructed, his eyes bright, his palms sticky with anticipation.

For one terror-ridden moment Bodie thought Davis meant to take the two of them. The thought of Davis let loose on Doyle came close to breaking him.

Manhandled on to the bed, Bodie relaxed when he saw Doyle being dropped unceremoniously on to the floor just inside the door. From the limp sprawl of limbs and his silence it looked as if Ray was unconscious again.

As the cuffs were released from Bodie's wrists he gathered himself for one final effort, hoping only to end it cleanly. His body would not obey him. Nothing worked, signals unable to pass through cramped muscles. The best resistance he could hope to offer would be to fall from bed to floor.

Stepping back, his gun in his hand, Davis went to stand by Doyle who, moaning softly, was attempting to sit up, his expression one of stark horror when he saw Bodie lying on the bed.

"Right, Bodie," said Davis with obvious relish. "Are you listening to me?"

Swallowing against his fear Bodie nodded, then cleared his throat. "Yes."

"Good, because as of now I'm timing you. You have ten minutes to get all your clothes off or I'll shoot your pretty partner in the right kneecap, then in the left and so on. There are a lot of non-fatal but painful parts of his anatomy after that. Your choice, Bodie: ten minutes." Davis raised his digital watch and set the timer.

"I can't even stand up, Davis."

"Nine minutes, fifty five seconds."

Bodie lay back, staring dull-eyed at the ceiling. It was really going to happen. It really was. And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"Nine minutes, thirty five seconds." Davis was obviously enjoying himself.

Come on, Bodie exhorted himself savagely. It's going to happen. Losing Ray his kneecap won't stop it and he's been through enough already on your behalf.

"Nine minutes, five seconds. Nine minutes. That's a whole minute you've wasted just thinking about it, Bodie."

Grunting with the effort it required, Bodie hauled himself into a sitting position and managed to get his feet on the floor, it took a moment to get them solidly balanced. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket with shaking hands he roughly pulled it back over his shoulders. Lacking co-ordination he soon found himself stuck and impatiently tore himself out of the confining sleeves, pulling the jacket inside out. He let it fall, not caring where it landed. His favourite jacket, too, but he couldn't see himself needing it again. His shoulder holster was gone, thank god. He didn't think his fingers could have managed the straps. Clumsy and numb they fumbled on the buttons of his shirt, ripping off half of them in his haste.

"Seven minutes, fifty seconds, Bodie."

Shirt. Fucking thing. There. On the floor. Nothing underneath. Forecast said it would be mild some time a million years ago this morning. Now for the hard part, his boots. Bend forward. Hello floor. OK, stage one completed. Now undo 'em. Damn. New boots. Great time to break them in, sitting in a car all day. Go fishing. Oh, christ. Stop it, no time. Come on you bloody things, undo.

"Six minutes, Bodie."

Damn boots. Can't even give them to Ray afterwards. Stop it. Ah, there's one. Now, come on, you bastard.

"Five minutes."

Come on. Ah. Socks. Easy. Just haul them off, all rolled up but who the hell cares? Now, trousers. The difficult one. Got to stand up. Where are you when I need you, legs?

"Four minutes, Bodie."

Undo belt, undo button, unzip fly. OK so far. Come on legs, I know you're there. Work dammit. No, careful, almost fell then. Can't fall, he'll shoot Ray to pieces. OK, standing is out. Pull them down as far as possible. Fucking cords, stick like glue. All right, get them and your pants off your arse. Downhill all the way now. No, don't get all hysterical, it wasn't that funny.

"One minute, Bodie."

Bastard's cheating. What happened to two and three? Come on. That's it. Got the bloody things, got them. I've done it, I've beaten the him!

Bodie did not realise he had fallen backwards across the bed until he heard the shot and found he could not see what had happened.

Davis had shot Ray.

"No!" he bellowed, sitting up faster than he would have believed he could have managed it. "I did it! What did you shoot Ray for?"

" _Bodie_."

Doyle's voice penetrated his consciousness and Bodie found the courage to look at him for the first time. Propped on one elbow, shock-dark eyes held his own.

"He didn't shoot me. Look at the mad bastard."

Davis stood above and behind Doyle, his smoking Magnum and a thick cushion still in his hands. There was a faint acrid smell. The cushion, blackened on one side, had its entrails hanging out of the other.

My god, thought Bodie, shaking with relief, he really is mad. He's shooting his own cushions.

Davis laughed, finding it difficult to stop. "Very nice, Bodie. Very nice indeed. You've matured nicely. I always said you would."

Following the direction of that hot blue stare Bodie became aware of his own nakedness and the reason behind it. His head dropping into his hands, he discovered his cheeks were wet. He'd been crying. He couldn't remember doing that. He never did that. Finding the courage from somewhere Bodie looked up again and met his partner's eyes. Ray was crying too.

What a pair.

"All right," purred Davis into the silence. "Get Doyle out of here and don't bother coming back. I can handle Superman here all by myself." His voice was thick with anticipation.

As Doyle was dragged, fighting, from the room, his last sight was that of Bodie, naked on the edge of the bed, his head slumped in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Cooper deposited Doyle on the sofa in the other room, cuffing him to the wooden arm before standing back to watch him impassively. After one abortive attempt to get back into the bedroom Doyle did not move. It was obvious he did not know he was still crying.

Disgusted by Davis' strange appetites and totally embarrassed by Doyle's tears, Dave excused himself and went back to the main house with Ken. Tony had an Italian mother and any number of voluble Italian uncles who wept unselfconsciously in both grief and joy. He felt no embarrassment, only a faint, unwilling sympathy.

Doyle was oblivious to his presence, the knowledge that there wasn't a thing he could do to save Bodie ripping him apart.

"I'll kill the bastard. I'll kill him," he muttered shakily, repeating the mumbled litany over and over again.

Cooper hoped he wouldn’t stop. That way he might not hear the sound of a belt hitting flesh coming from the bedroom.

 

Working methodically down the pile of reports in his ln-tray Cowley paused when a note from the car pool caught his eye. The brown Ford requisitioned by 4.5 for the Michaelson surveillance had not been returned.

Knowing Bodie and Doyle very well indeed, he found that fact worthy of note. He could not believe they would waste much time in picking up their usual cars, particularly in view of the disparaging remarks he had overheard Doyle making about the Ford. He used the intercom to call through to the outer office.

"Kirstie, get me 4.5 will you? I know he's on leave but Control will have a number where he can be reached." His hand remained on the button of the intercom. It was probably nothing but he had learnt to trust his hunches.

On learning that Control had had no contact with 4.5 or his partner since 8.13 that morning Cowley put a tracer out on the brown Ford. If Doyle had wilfully neglected to call in he would have a few uncomplimentary words to say to him.

The abandoned Ford was discovered forty minutes later.

 

Stepping out of the shower, Angetti shrugged into a bathrobe and crossed over to the intercom, clear in his mind on what course of action to take. "Ah, Ken. Is Cooper still here?"

"Yes, Mr Angetti. He's in Gary's sitting-room, guarding Doyle."

"Where is Davis?"

"In his bedroom with Bodie, Mr Angetti." There was a hint of distaste evident in Ken's voice.

It was a feeling Angetti shared. Just before his swim he had taken a telephone call which had confirmed he would not need to make use of Davis' peculiar talents in the foreseeable future. Davis' diversions disrupted the entire household in a way he was no longer prepared to tolerate. Davis simply was not useful enough to make such disruption worthwhile.

"Thank you. One of you relieve Cooper, the other bring him to me. I shall be in my study in fifteen minutes."

Angetti remained by the intercom after Ken's acknowledgement. The brief report he had obtained only thirty minutes before had confirmed his hunch that Cooper would make an able addition to his staff. It would be useful to have a man of some intelligence this time - not too intelligent, of course, an over-ambitious aide could prove as much of a danger as a fool. Padding across the bedroom, Angetti began to dress. Instinct told him that in Cooper he had found the perfect balance.

 

Doyle's eyes were dry now. He had only realised he had been crying when Cooper silently held out some tissues for him to blow his nose. He had refused to take off Doyle's handcuffs and had prevented him from trying to get back into the bedroom. Since then they had sat in silence.

Watching Doyle's face Cooper had offered to put on the stereo. Doyle had refused, looking through him with bleak despair. The mock-Tudor house was not as solidly constructed as it might appear and sound travelled all too well from Davis' bedroom. It had been quieter for the last half an hour. At least the unmistakable sound of a strap hitting human flesh had stopped. Cooper had avoided looking at Doyle after catching his expression as each blow landed; he had tried to initiate a conversation that would drown out the too vivid sounds but Doyle didn't even hear him. Staring into space, his entire being was focussed on what was going on in the next room.

Cooper looked up with open relief as Ken and Dave came in, both men making an uneasy effort to ignore the sounds coming from the adjoining room. When he spoke Ken's voice was just a little too loud.

"Mr Angetti wants to see you. He said one of us was to take you to the study."

"It's OK, I know my way."

Cooper left the room with alacrity. This was it. He had felt it in his bones the moment he met Angetti, his optimism reinforced by the growing evidence that Davis had finally gone off his rocker. Waiting outside the study, awaiting admittance, he mentally crossed his fingers. Entering the room, he walked over to where Angetti sat behind his desk.

"You wanted to see me, Mr Angetti?"

"Have a seat, Cooper," said Angetti, without looking up from some paperwork.

Outwardly at ease, Cooper sat in silence for what could only have been a couple of minutes; it felt far longer.

Without looking up, Angetti asked, "What is Davis doing to those two men?"

"Nothing to Doyle, yet. He's giving Bodie a treatment he calls the Game." At the questioning look he received, Cooper elaborated. "It's a another word for rape."

"I seem to recall Davis telling me you are also an ex-mercenary." Cooper nodded. "And Bodie, is he also an ex-mercenary?" Angetti asked in the same measured tones.

"Yes, sir."

"Does Davis' attitude towards him have anything to do with some incident during their days as mercenaries?"

"It does." Cooper did not elucidate; Gary had a tendency to talk too much.

Angetti gave a wintry smile of approval. "Do you ever answer a question you are not asked directly?"

Cooper permitted himself a flicker of a smile. "No, Mr Angetti."

"Good, I cannot abide people who continually offer extraneous information. For our future relationship please note that I require information only when I ask for it."

"Yes, sir." He found it difficult to quench his jubilant smile.

"What is your opinion of Davis?"

Cooper did not hesitate. "I think he's a dangerous psychopath, Mr Angetti."

"Yet you are a friend of his?"

"No, Mr Angetti."

The Italian relaxed back in his chair. "Since there are only two of us in the room I will assume you are addressing me when you speak. Please continue."

Cooper took his point. "Davis and I are acquaintances. We worked for the same outfit in Jordan and Syria. I owe him a favour - a large one. Davis told me he would consider it returned in full if I helped him to abduct Bodie. When he told me why he wanted Bodie I agreed on condition I didn't have to watch."

"What is it that bothers you, the violence, or Davis' homosexual tendencies?"

"I find rape distasteful, whatever it's called. I don't understand or share the gaining of sexual gratification from inflicting pain and humiliation upon my partner."

"So it is just this Game that bothers you?"

"Yes."

"I see." Angetti held the other man's unflinching gaze, approving of the way Cooper sustained his unblinking regard. "Why do you think I employ a dangerous psychopath on my staff?"

Cooper paused for only a second. "I don't know," he admitted.

"To be absolutely frank neither do I now I have considered the matter," Angetti said, inwardly amused at Cooper's expression. "What qualities do you think I should look for when I replace him?"

The answer to that was easy. "The man must be skilled with a gun and unarmed combat, a knowledge of explosives would be useful. You require more than a mindless killer, there are situations where violence is not the answer. If you need the services of a psychopath I know of two men who will work for nothing if the job appeals to them. But you couldn't trust them full-time." He allowed his voice to trail away, wondering if he had gone too far.

"I am beginning to realise that," Angetti agreed placidly. "The description of the perfect enforcer, by the merest chance, of course, seems to fit yourself."

"Yes." Cooper waited in a tense silence.

"Good. I am glad that is understood. You may consider your appointment to have commenced. Your first task is as follows, I wish to tell Davis personally why I am dispensing with his services, then I want you to kill him. I do not want a shoot-out, I would prefer the mess to be minimal. What do you suggest?"

Cooper thought for a few moments, a strange calm overtaking his blossoming exhilaration. "The pool room would be the easiest to clean - some slight staining is inevitable. Call Ken and Dave there first, their presence will allay Davis' suspicions. Then call him and say an emergency has arisen and that you wish to discuss with him what form your retaliation should take. That you want to speak to him immediately. Certain of your approval he will come straight away, probably dressed only in a pair of jeans, or a robe, and without feeling the need to arm himself."

"Well reasoned," said Angetti, who had been thinking on similar lines. "That will leave the two CI5 agents, who will be unguarded."

Cooper gave a sour smile. "Lock them in Davis' bedroom. Bodie won't be in any condition to do anything after two and a half hours with Davis. Doyle, who is still handcuffed, can barely stand unassisted. Davis gave him a severe beating before you arrived home," he added, in answer to Angetti's questioning look. "The room is on the second floor and the windows are too small to escape through. There is no telephone and a solid door which can be locked from the outside."

Angetti gave a soft sigh of satisfaction. He was not going to regret Cooper's appointment. "We will do as you have suggested. I will go to the pool room. Go back to guarding Doyle and tell Ken and Dave I wish to see them there. What is your first name again?"

"Tony, Mr Angetti."

"Ah, a good Italian name, Anthony. Any Italian blood in your family?"

"My mother."

Angetti smiled. His instincts were never wrong.

 

Lost in his own private hell, Doyle gave no sign of noticing Cooper when he returned to the sitting-room, every fibre of his being concentrating on what might be happening in the bedroom now. There had been no doubt about what was going on until a few minutes ago, he had heard - all too clearly - the rhythmic squeaking of the bed and a sharp sound of pain, abruptly cut off.

 _Bodie._

He could put up with a lot, could Bodie. Physically. But Davis had a hex on him and... Just live through this, sunshine and I swear I'll make it all right. Somehow.

Davis' voice sounded again, thick and gloating, the actual words mercifully indistinct. Then Doyle heard a low groan and the creaking squeak of the bed start up again. He shivered, his hands screwed into tight fists, the short nails drawing crescents of blood in his palms. Sweat trickling from temples, he refocused on the man standing above him with a look of unconscious pleading.

Cooper tried to ignore the sounds coming from the bedroom. He gestured to the two guards, who were sitting by the window, as if that extra distance could disassociate them from what Davis was doing. "I'm to relieve you. Mr Angetti wants to see you both in the pool house," he said, his tone one of unmistakable command.

Ken and Dave exchanged speculative glances before they left the room. As the door closed behind them Cooper sank beside Doyle, who turned to him, his eyes wide and urgent.

"You're a mercenary. Whatever you cost, I'll pay it. Just get Bodie away from Davis. I might not be as rich as Angetti but you'll have the money in two days, I swear it, whether you let me go or not."

Cooper believed him. "You know I can't do that," he said mildly. He could see the strain of imagining what was going on behind that door etched on Doyle's face. "Besides, my new employer wouldn't approve of my hiring myself out."

Doyle heard only the refusal, his shoulders slumping. "I can't take much more of this," he muttered unconsciously, his attention refocused to beyond the closed door again.

"I expect your partner's thinking the same thing," snapped Cooper with sudden asperity.

Doyle winced but made no attempt to retaliate.

"Just hang on," Cooper added with a rough kindness before he glanced at his watch. "In about ten minutes Davis will be dead."

" _What_!"

Cooper motioned for him to keep his voice down. "Mr Angetti has seen the light. In a few minutes Gary will come out, pissed off at having his fun interrupted. If he's armed, I'll jump him here." He paused and gave Doyle a considering look. "I'm going to take off your cuffs, but you have to stay just as you are. If Davis comes out unarmed, you sit tight and let him go." He had no difficulty reading Doyle's expression. "I want your word on that or the cuffs stay on. Davis is mine."

"I'm going to kill the bastard," hissed Doyle in a venomous whisper.

"Well you can't because I am," Cooper said, conscious of how childish this argument must sound. "You're in no state to take on anyone. Bodie's going to need a friendly face around and I'll leave you with him if Davis comes out without a gun."

"Davis is yours," agreed Doyle, having absorbed what he had been told. He held his wrists up as far as he was able so the other man could unlock the cuffs.

Cooper hesitated, mistrusting this easy capitulation.

Doyle held his gaze. "I don't know if you've ever worked with just one person on a regular basis but Bodie and I have been partners for four years. Davis is yours," he repeated flatly.

Convinced, Cooper unlocked the handcuffs. At a sound from the door they both settled back on the couch in time to see Davis storm out, still fastening a pair of jeans, his feet were bare. It was obvious he was unarmed. His hands clenched behind his back Doyle sat glaring at the floor, willing Davis to leave before he forgot about Bodie and took him apart.

Davis paused, a slow smile appearing as he saw Doyle. "Keep an eye on lover-boy in there for me, Tony," he said, jerking a casual thumb behind him. "Mr Angetti just came through on the intercom. There's been an emergency up in town and he wants to discuss strategy with me." Vain enough to find that excuse convincing, pride echoed in his voice.

"Will do," said Cooper.

The moment the door closed behind Davis, Doyle was on his feet, lurching towards the bedroom. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, his face a mask of shock. Bodie was stretched out face down on the bed, his outstretched arms cuffed at the wrists to the brass bedstead. His face buried in the pillow, he did not move.

Doyle staggered across the room and slumped to his knees beside Bodie, his eyes stricken when he saw the state of Bodie's back at close range. The clear evidence of what Davis' Game entailed was spattered over the welted skin.

His face stiff with disgust, Cooper remained silent in the doorway. This was not the first of Gary's victims he had seen but he had forgotten how dirty it made him feel. Fishing in his pocket, he crossed the room to unlock both sets of handcuffs. Bodie flinched at his touch, then froze. Cooper clamped down on the pity stirring in him and stared at Doyle, who was kneeling beside the bed. The CI5 agent's hand hovered over Bodie's shoulder, patently wanting to touch but unable to see an unmarked portion of skin.

"I haven't much time," said Cooper, his voice harsher than he knew, "so just listen. If you do what I say you'll both get out of this alive. First, don't try and touch him until you've convinced him who you are and that Davis isn't coming back. Then, if he'll let you, clean him up. Don't even think of trying to escape because I promised Angetti you couldn't."

Doyle's gaze never left Bodie. "We can't. I'm not leaving Bodie and I can't see him making it anywhere without help, can you?" He was almost incoherent with a coruscating rage, together with a vast tenderness for the unmoving man on the bed.

Cooper slapped his arm by way of acknowledgement. His whole attention on Bodie, Doyle did not notice him leave, or hear the key turning in the lock.

That bastard Davis.

Propped against the edge of the mattress, Doyle leant beside Bodie's averted head and murmured his name over and over again. Bodie gave no indication that he even heard him, let alone that he recognised to whom the voice belonged.

Bodie, his Bodie brought to this.

Remembering Cooper's advice, Doyle didn't attempt to touch Bodie, although he ached to offer some gesture of comfort, to make some atonement for not being able to stop this from happening. Even the short, dark hair was sticky with blood and semen. The once smooth, creamy skin was marked and remarked, some of the ugly welts bleeding sluggishly.

"Come on, Bodie. It's me, Ray. It's all right, mate. Davis is dead. Come on, sunshine," he coaxed gently, his shaking voice full of pleading. "It's all right. You're safe."

 

When Cooper arrived in the pool house Davis was at bay, with his back to the wall, staring at Angetti with disbelief.

"...is terminated," finished Angetti with cold displeasure. "Cooper will assume your duties as of this moment."

As Davis whipped round Cooper shot him, his Smith & Wesson re-holstered before Davis' limp figure hit the floor. Angetti moved round his desk to inspect the sprawled body, his face impassive before he looked up with a nod of approval.

"Very impressive. A neat demonstration. I dislike ostentation."

"Thank you, sir."

"You can dispose of Davis?"

"Of course. If you could just spare Ken and Dave for a few moments."

 

Doyle felt as if he had been repeating his litany forever when the tremors rippling down Bodie's naked back eased. "That's the way," he encouraged, his voice low, gentle and matter of fact. "It's OK. It's all over now, all over."

The dark head stirred until Bodie could see him. His face was a mess, the skin blotched and bruised, his mouth swollen, his eyes puffy and red.

"Ray?"

His nose was running, Doyle saw, reaching out without thought to wipe away the moisture. "Who else, sunshine?" He gathered a portion of sheet and held it to Bodie's nose. "Blow. That's the way. And again. It's all over now. Davis is dead. Cooper killed him. I heard the shot about a quarter of an hour ago."

"You can see the body if you want to," Cooper announced from behind them, having let himself in unnoticed by either man. Re-locking the door, he pocketed the key. "You haven't made much of a start cleaning him up," he reproved.

"He's only just come round to who I am!"

Caught in a foggy shroud of shock which distanced him from everything around him, Bodie stared from one man to the other. Recognising the palpable anger surrounding his only anchor to reality, he began to shake again.

"'S true?" His voice was so thick and slurred it was barely recognisable. "'S true, Ray?"

"It's true, sunshine. Davis is dead." Doyle made a monumental effort to keep his voice level when he realised his anger was upsetting Bodie's fragile composure. "Relax, mate. You should be used to me letting rip by now. It's all right, I promise you." He touched Bodie's cheek with a gentle finger, stroking away the dampness there. "Look, no cuffs, see?"

He willed himself not to be hurt when Bodie shied away from him, to be prepared if he should lash out. Bodie did neither of those things, just lay staring at him from huge, dark eyes. Doyle continued to stroke the bruised cheek.

"It's over," he repeated, his voice almost failing him as silent tears began to well from Bodie's eyes to spill down the bruised face.

Taking a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket, Cooper thrust them at Doyle. "Here, give him two of these," he said roughly. "I'll get him some water."

Staring suspiciously at the label, the proprietary name meaning nothing to him, Doyle shook two tablets out onto his palm. "What are these?"

"Strong painkillers," Cooper called from the bathroom. Returning with a glass of water, he handed it to Doyle. "We used them in the field. They won't hurt him," he promised. He recognised the moment when Doyle decided to accept his word. "Start getting him cleaned up once they've begun to take effect. You'll find the damage isn't nearly as bad as it looks. Gary was under orders not to do any permanent harm."

Unsteady with rage at that casual dismissal of what Bodie had endured, Doyle made a monumental effort to clamp down on his anger, remaining silent until he could be certain his voice wouldn't betray him. "Bodie, come on, mate. Get these inside of you."

Bodie gasped, trying to regain control of his shattered breathing. He took a deep, experimental breath. "Sorry, Ray, I - "

"You've got nothing to apologise for, sunshine. It's the best thing for you," Doyle told him firmly. "But these pills will help take the edge off."

Propped up on an unsteady elbow, Bodie fumbled with the tablets but managed to get them in his mouth. He was shaking too much to be able to hold the glass so Doyle did it for him. An awkward and unaccustomed nurse, his clumsiness was reassuring in itself.

Tablets swallowed, Bodie's head sank down on to the pillow again. His face was hidden from view but hearing the uneven catches in his breathing Doyle realised he was crying again and that, ashamed of what he saw as weakness, Bodie was trying to hide the fact. Shaking with emotion Doyle placed a gentle hand on the back of Bodie's head, fingers circling his skull in a gentle caress.

"That's right, sunshine. Let it all go," he encouraged softly. "You'll feel better afterwards. That's the way." His voice took on an almost hypnotic cadence in rhythm with his caressing fingers.

Cooper reappeared, carrying a bowl of hot water, soap and towels, which he sat down next to Doyle, together with a tube of antiseptic cream. "Give him a few minutes for the pills to take effect and then start to clean him up."

"Where are you going?" demanded Doyle.

A brief flash of irritation crossed Cooper's face. "To persuade Angetti to let you two go."

"Yeah? And how are you going to do that?"

"By persuading him that CI5's gratitude will be forthcoming. Just hope I'm persuasive enough. Don't argue with any plan I come up with, all right?"

"Why are you bothering? One moment you're helping Davis, the next you're trying to keep us alive. Why?"

Cooper's sombre gaze was on Bodie's sprawled figure, a twist of pity crossing his face as he noticed the bruises springing up on Bodie's thighs and buttocks. "I had a partner once," he said tersely, unwilling to elucidate. "Put it down to that."

Doyle was about to reply when Bodie moved and gave a soft moan. All Doyle's attention returned to the man on the bed.

 

Angetti was alone in his study, but glanced up from his paperwork, a trace of surprise on his face when he saw who it was. "Yes?"

"May I have a word with you, sir?"

"Take a seat. Have you disposed of the CI5 agents?"

"That's what I wish to discuss with you," said Cooper, seating himself with every appearance of ease. "I think it would be a mistake to dispose of them without considering the matter fully."

Angetti stared at him with steely displeasure. "You are asserting your independence a little early, aren't you?"

"That isn't my intention, sir. My loyalty is yours, but I don't believe killing them will resolve the problem. While it would be ease itself to kill the CI5 agents, that decision may return to haunt us. CI5 has a reputation for protecting their own. I believe there is a useful alternative."

"Alternative! Do you have any idea of the charges I would face if they survive to give evidence against me?"

"And if they are traced here anyway?" Cooper countered, his tone courteous but firm. "Davis was impatient. He used your daughter's horse trailer to transport them here. I don't think anyone saw the pick-up but in the country you can never be sure. Davis told us to leave their car in the spot we picked them up from. It was only five miles from the site of their surveillance operation. They will have been missed almost immediately."

Encouraged by the quality of the silence from the other side of the deck, he leant forward a little. "If CI5 believe their agents are dead they will assume the cause is related to that operation and they'll never stop looking for the killers. If they turn up a witness who saw the trailer..."

"I think," said Angetti slowly, "that tomorrow morning I will discover that my stables have been broken into and that various pieces of machinery have been removed. Mention it to Ken and he will take care of it, he has several useful contacts."

"Yes, sir." Cooper did not press the matter of the CI5 agents. It had dawned on him that Angetti had probably never intended they should be killed but had wanted to test his powers of deduction. The argument he had produced had been devoid of sentiment and had been solely concerned with his employer's welfare.

"So how do we prevent the two agents testifying against me?"

Cooper took a deep breath. Now came the hard part.

 

Wringing out the cloth again Doyle glanced up, his expression mutating when he saw the two men enter the room.

"Come to admire your boy's handiwork?" he asked with savage contempt.

In spite of the painkillers, Bodie had fainted about five minutes ago. Doyle had used the time to clean away the blood and semen and apply cream, knowing Bodie would have refused him that intimacy when conscious. He was still shaking in reaction, appalled by the bruises and swelling on Bodie's genitals and around his anus.

Angetti stared at the unconscious figure with frozen distaste. "I do not normally have to witness the results of Davis' excesses," he said, his gaze moving with some relief to the livid, swollen face of the conscious agent. "This is revolting."

"Isn't it just," agreed Doyle tightly, trying to control his rage. "Why didn't you have the bastard killed before this happened?"

Taken aback, Angetti stared at him, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He was not accustomed to having his actions questioned.

Cooper intervened. "If this hadn't happened, you would both be dead. If Davis hadn't shot you out of hand I would have done, if Mister Angetti had ordered it. As it is Mr Angetti has had time to reconsider."

Resuming his careful cleansing of Bodie's back, Doyle shared his glare between the two men. "I'll try and convince Bodie the price was worth it." He fixed a scathing gaze on Angetti. "If we get out of this mess I intend to ensure you get put away for this one. For a very long time."

"I wish you hadn't said that," sighed Cooper with resignation. "I've just spent a very difficult fifteen minutes persuading Mr Angetti that you will do no such thing."

Doyle gave him an incredulous glare. "And why the fuck not? Do you know how long we've been trying to nail him?"

"For a good many years I would imagine," said Angetti smoothly.

"Bloody right." It belatedly occurred to Doyle that if they wanted to get out of this alive, he would do better to keep his mouth shut. "Right, so out of the goodness of your heart, you let us go. Tell me how we keep your name out of this, even if we wanted to?"

"You don't," Cooper said succinctly. "Mr Angetti will be only too pleased to assist CI5 in their inquiries. A respectable businessman, he arrived home two days earlier than he was expected, to find that his houseman - who had been behaving rather strangely of late - had kidnapped two men and, having severely beaten one, is engaged in subjecting the other to certain unnatural practices. Horrified, he reaches for the telephone to call the police. The houseman goes berserk and attacks him. I, as the bodyguard hired last week following a series of anonymous death-threats, am forced to shoot the houseman dead. With my gun, for which I have a licence. It'll make a lovely story for the more lurid Sunday papers, won't it?"

His voice hardened. "A good defence counsel will shred you and your partner in the witness box. Ken, Dave and I all have unblemished records. We're prepared to swear you and Bodie were delirious when Mr Angetti arrived and that you mistook his intentions."

Smoothing on the last of the antiseptic cream, Doyle nodded. "Not bad," he conceded. "Cowley might swallow it. He won't welcome the publicity. Nor would Bodie and I, not over this." He could think of so many flaws in the argument Cooper presented that it made him dizzy trying not to voice them. But, having made a show of defiance, it wouldn't do to cave in too quickly. He rubbed a tired hand over his face, looking confused: it wasn't that difficult.

"I dunno. I'll have to see what Bodie says," he muttered dispiritedly.

"There is just one thing," Cooper added. "If we let you go immediately you'll contact your office and the cavalry rushes in to the rescue. Now maybe you could both use some medical care but he's going to be in bad mental shape for a while. Physically he's taken no lasting harm. Your people would pack him off to hospital with a gang of psychiatrists. I can't see that helping him, although of course you know him better than me. A lot of people will know what's happened to him - every salacious detail. No matter how sympathetic they might seem, people can't resist gossiping and I can't imagine CI5 being any different. How do you think Bodie's going to deal with that when word gets round, as it inevitably will? It's no easy thing to be a rape victim but in our line of work... It won't do his career prospects much good either."

"You can leave Bodie's head for me to worry about," said Doyle, already knowing how difficult the next few days were going to be. Bodie wasn't going to find it easy to accept he had been around, never mind anyone else knowing.

"A friend of mine has this cottage out in the middle of nowhere," continued Cooper. "If we let you live, the two of you stay there for ten days. We'll give you enough food, medical supplies and clothes to keep you going. I'll check on Bodie before you leave - I know what to look for," he added in brisk reassurance. "I'll arrange for a taxi to collect you both and take you back to civilisation ten days from now. At that point you can tell your people what you like. Mr Angetti's alibi will be watertight long before then and this house will be clean of forensic evidence within hours."

"Why leave us stuck out in the country?" demanded Doyle, latching on to what was most important to him. "Bodie might have internal injuries."

"I doubt it," said Cooper unemotionally. "Davis was under orders not to kill either of you and the only person he took seriously was Mr Angetti."

"That's lucky," said Doyle ironically, sparing Angetti a glance.

"You will come to thank me later," remarked the Italian. "Now, which is it to be - the cottage, or a quick death? I cannot believe the choice can be that difficult."

"It isn't," agreed Doyle wearily. He didn't want to think what Cowley was going to make of all this. Then Bodie stirred beneath his hand, giving a soft moan as he rolled on to his side, revealing a marked torso. His eyes flickered open.

"Ray?"

Taking the questing hand in his own, Doyle slid off the bed to crouch where Bodie could see him, keeping their hands clasped tight, his fingers knotting with Bodie's. "I'm here, it's all right. You're safe now."

Bodie drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, moisture seeping from beneath his eyelids. Those silent tears convinced Doyle that if he was ever going to get his partner back a CI5 hospital and debriefing were to be avoided at all costs - at least for a while.

His thumb gently stroking the back of Bodie's hand, Doyle said: "You've got yourself a deal, Angetti. As far as we're concerned you're Mr Clean." He used the argument both men were most likely to believe. "Bodie won't want anyone knowing what happened to him. Me neither. We'll keep our mouths shut," he lied.

"I am glad to hear that your good sense prevailed," Angetti replied quietly. "I understand your desire for revenge. Do not permit that desire to override your good sense, either now or in the future. Cooper, I leave the arrangements to you." He waited for the quiet acknowledgement before he left the room.

"Right then," said Cooper briskly, relaxing now the Italian had gone. "The first thing we've got to do is find the pair of you another room for the night."

"Room?" Doyle's eyebrows rose.

"Use your head," said Cooper patiently. "He's going to be in no state to be left alone tonight, perhaps for several nights to come. He'll need someone with him, someone he knows and trusts. Don't panic, I had single beds in mind."

"I should bloody well hope so," said Doyle. He tried to inject some force into his voice but succeeded only in revealing how weak he was. By the time he made it to his feet he was visibly swaying.

Crossing the room, Cooper put a hand under his arm to steady him. "Hold on a bit longer. Bodie's nearly out again. We'll soon be free to worry about you."

 

Ken and Dave carried Bodie's unconscious figure to one of the many spare bedrooms. Doyle followed at a much slower pace, heavily supported, and at times, half-carried by Cooper. When they finally arrived, Bodie was prone on one of the beds and a bath was running in the adjacent bathroom.

"For you," Cooper explained, dismissing the two guards with a nod. Sagging on to the vacant bed, Doyle gave him a look of disbelief. "Nice thought, but no thanks. I really don't think I can."

"You must. You're going to feel like hell in the morning. A soak in hot water will take away some of the stiffness. I'll hang around in case you need a hand. There's a robe on the bed. While I think of it," Cooper hesitated, "if you normally sleep in the raw, don't for the next few nights. Not while you're sharing a room with Bodie. He won't - "

"Yeah," Doyle agreed bleakly, cutting short whatever Cooper had been about to say next, "I'd managed to work that one out for myself."

Sighing, he made it to his feet again. All he wanted to do was let unconsciousness sweep over him but Cooper was right, a bath would help. He pulled ineffectually at his jacket.

Making a sound of impatience, Cooper came to his rescue and stripped him with a deft competence. One hand held to a rib that Cooper had told him was cracked, Doyle lowered himself into the bath, giving an involuntary whimper. His stomach was the worst, unbearably tender even to the lapping touch of the water and he was afraid to even look at his genitals, but from marks elsewhere on his body he had a fair idea of what he was going to look like by morning.

Be better when the bruising's out, he told himself optimistically, not really believing he would stay alive for long enough and uncharacteristically not caring much. Leaning back with caution, he let the water and steam envelope him and after a while the pain receded to a more tolerable level. His eyelids drooped to a close. He could afford to relax for a few minutes, Cooper was listening out for Bodie.

Doyle was not accustomed to sitting back and letting someone else make all the decisions for him but right now he lacked the energy to make even a token protest. His brain chugged tiredly in ever decreasing circles.

He should be raising hell trying to reach Cowley, although he couldn't do that from here. He couldn't face trying to explain what had happened either.

Oh, sunshine, you better bloody be all right.

Worry about what they told Cowley tomorrow. Bodie came first, second, third...

 

"Doyle? Hey, Doyle, wake up!"

Doyle felt a hand shaking him. His face tight with pain, he blearily opened his eyes. He was up to his chin in tepid water with Cooper leaning over him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and inadvertently slipped under the water. Strong hands grabbed him under the arms.

"Come on, let's get you out of there before you drown."

Doyle did his best to co-operate but almost fainted when Cooper hauled him out the bath. Slumped dizzily against the wall, he felt himself being towelled dry, obediently swallowed the pills thrust at him and was tucked up in bed with a brisk, impersonal efficiency. Too exhausted to feel indignant at such ignominious treatment he was asleep before Cooper left the room and locked the door behind him.

 

Cooper was pouring himself a brandy when Angetti came into the room. "Pour me one, too, will you," he requested quietly. Startled, Cooper spilt some of the amber liquid on to the polished wood of the cabinet, made his recovery and reached for another glass.

"You don't mind?" he asked, gesturing to his own drink.

"This house is now your home, you are to treat it as such." With a nod of thanks Angetti picked up his glass. "My wife spends most of her time at my house in Milan. She does not care for England. My daughter is at boarding school in Sussex but spends some weekends here. Naturally neither of them are aware of my connection with - a certain Organisation. When they are home I shall expect you to efface yourself."

"Of course, sir." Cooper kept his true feelings well hidden.

"I felt sure you would understand. Please, sit down," Angetti invited, making himself comfortable on the sofa. "Are the two agents settled?"

"They are both sleeping. Ken is on guard outside their locked room." Cooper took a luxurious swallow of his drink. It had been an eventful day.

Angetti grimaced. "I shall be glad when this sordid mess is finalised. You will take them away tomorrow?"

"First thing in the morning. The cottage is in one of the most inhospitable parts of Yorkshire, down a mile long track. The telephone will be disconnected. The owner will ensure there is plenty of food, clothing and medication available. It's two miles across rough terrain to the nearest farmhouse, which is currently unoccupied. It has no telephone. The weather at this time of year should ensure they remain at the cottage there for a sufficient length of time to suit our purpose."

Angetti considered what he had been told and gave a nod of approval. "Your handling of this situation has been commendable. It has occurred to me that this tenuous link with CI5 could prove useful in the future," he added idly, testing out the ground.

Cooper absorbed the implication behind the suggestion in silence, then nodded. His loyalty was to his paymaster, no one else. "CI5 have an excellent record for protecting anyone who is of service to them," he acknowledged, equally oblique.

Dark eyes held his own. "Exactly," said Angetti. "But those agents. Neither is likely to die, I trust? That would sour any possible future relationship with CI5."

"Bodie's physical injuries, while uncomfortable and humiliating, are relatively minor - Davis obviously took your warning to heart. Doyle may require some medical attention, he has two cracked ribs and severe bruising, but nothing that won't heal in time."

"Good." Stretching out his legs Angetti glanced across to his new bodyguard. "Tell me, Cooper, do you play chess?"

 

Doyle awoke to the sound of someone crying out. Moving was uncomfortable and difficult but finally he managed to sit up and flick on the bedside lamp. After one glance across the room, he staggered over to Bodie, ignoring the reaction this caused to his sleep-stiffened injuries.

His hands clenched into fists, his body in a foetal ball, Bodie's face was contorted as he mumbled broken, incoherent phrases to himself. Hesitant in case he made matters worse, Doyle knelt at the head of the bed, taking his partner's hands in his own. Bodie wrenched away with a violence that sent Doyle sprawling, then was terribly still, as if awaiting retribution. He had begun to shiver.

"Bodie, come on, mate." Doyle took hold of him again.

This time Bodie fought him with blind desperation. Lost to panic he used none of his skills gained over the years; as it was, his strength alone almost defeated Doyle.

"Bodie, wake up! You're having a nightmare. Wake up, Bodie!" The struggles lessened, but by then Doyle was virtually pinning Bodie to the bed. "Come on, sunshine," he urged, panting.

Bodie shuddered awake, staring, confused, into the familiar face only inches above his own. "Ray?"

"Who else, sunshine?" Doyle confirmed with illusory cheerfulness. Releasing Bodie, he sat comfortingly close. "You were having a nightmare," he explained in a matter of fact tone.

"That's true." Bodie's voice was tight with suppressed horror.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No." Bodie tensed at the thought, his eyes confused and frightened. He avoided Doyle's gaze, as if afraid of what he might see on his face.

"It's all right, mate. Whatever's best for you," Doyle soothed, rubbing up and down Bodie's upper arm, taking his freedom to touch for granted. "Just take your time, relax. There's no rush. It's only me."

"I thought you were Davis. But he's dead. He is dead?"

"Very. We're both safe now."

" _Safe_?" Bodie sounded as if he had forgotten what the word meant as he stared around the unfamiliar room. "Where are we?"

"Still at Angetti's." Doyle sneaked a look at his watch. It was 3 a.m.

Bodie tried to concentrate. "Is he letting us go?" He sounded as if it didn't matter.

It occurred to Doyle that it probably didn't at the moment. "That's right. We'll be spending a few days in the country at a cottage, then it's back to civilisation." Seeing the beginnings of withdrawal, he changed the subject. "Main thing is that we'll be getting out of here. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. I'm a bit fuzzy myself right now. It'll be OK," he repeated. "There'll just be the two of us, and I'll help you to - "

"Help me?" Bodie swung his head away and, helpless to stop himself, began to cry again.

"Hey, c'mon, sunshine. I'm not that bad a nurse." Edging farther on to the bed, Doyle eased the bowed head on to his shoulder. Ruffling the dark hair at the nape of Bodie's neck he felt the warm moisture against his bare skin and closed his own eyes. Bodie, who never lost control. "It's all over now, all over," he crooned. He hardly knew what he said, his attention given to disguising his fierce anger - and the guilt that he hadn't been able to protect his partner.

"S-sorry," Bodie gulped, his voice muffled in the folds of his partner's bathrobe.

Doyle just tightened his embrace, offering his warmth without thought. "Nothing to apologise for, sunshine. It's only me here. Let it go, let all the hurt out. That's the way."

He held Bodie until the racking sobs eased and finally faded away. Soothing Bodie with his hands, he whispered stupid, useless reassurances. His own eyes began to prickle. His face resting upon dark hair, Doyle blinked angrily. Fat lot of use that would be. But his own sense of helplessness gnawed at him. On the Force and within CI5 he had become hardened to a degree. You had to find some kind of a defence if you wanted to be able to function. But everyone had their weak spot and Bodie was his, a fact he had accepted a long time ago - the reluctant price he had to pay for everything else.

When at last Bodie seemed to have calmed to the degree where he was drifting off to sleep Doyle eased him back on to the pillows. As he remade the bed, drawing the bedclothes up around Bodie's chilled shoulders, he noticed the ridiculously long lashes, spiky and damp and the tear-stained cheeks, listening to the ragged breathing take on a slower, deeper rhythm.

That bastard Davis. It wasn't enough to have raped Bodie but, from what he could gather from Bodie's broken mutterings, seeing Davis had revived old memories of forgotten wars, the casual brutalities in the field that wouldn't merit a line in a newspaper. He'd been no more than eighteen when he'd met Davis the first time. Small wonder the bastard had had a hex on him. But Bodie had come to terms with all the memories once, could he do it again?

He stood watching Bodie's sleeping figure for a long time, torn by a number of unfamiliar emotions, before he made his painful way back to his own bed. Crawling between chilly sheets, he had a sudden image of the Bodie of minutes before, remembering back the century or so to the previous morning, joking in the car. And to the Bodie he had known throughout the years of their partnership. He had seen him in many moods and situations: cool; terrified; disdainful; flippant; irritable; superior; bored; raucous; in pain; worried; menacing; randy; convulsed with laughter...

If Davis had broken him... Doyle's eyes scrunched shut. If Davis had done that then he would just have to put Bodie back together again. But listening to the soft breathing of the man in the other bed it was a long time before he slept.

oOo

Doyle awoke to the warmth of sunlight on his face and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. It smelt wonderful. Only half awake, he stretched cramped limbs and was instantly sorry, freezing before he could make matters any worse.

"That bad?" Cooper asked.

Doyle's eyes snapped open as he was swamped by unwelcome reality. "I'll survive," he said brusquely. He didn't want sympathy, he couldn't take it - not for himself, even less for Bodie. Not if he was going to get Bodie out of this mess unscarred. And he was, whatever it cost.

Moving with caution, he finally succeeded in sitting on the edge of the bed but he was sweating by the time his hands curled around the mug of coffee Cooper held out to him. The pain would ease up. It had to. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he stifled a yawn on a shudder of pain.

"Rough night?" Cooper glanced across to where Bodie was sprawled, still asleep.

"You could say that. He kept me up half the night." Doyle's tone was bitter as he remembered. Bodie’d had another nightmare. It hadn't been so easy to rouse him the second time. In his haste to reach Bodie he had done no more than pull on the bathrobe, giving no thought to his nudity. The fleeting revulsion in Bodie's waking eyes had chilled him to the bone. It had taken a long time to calm Bodie, even longer for him to relax enough to sleep, by which time the sun had risen and with it the deafening, to Doyle's city-bread ears, dawn chorus of bird song. He glanced at his watch: seven thirteen. He couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, Bodie for little longer.

"I know it's early, but you've got quite a journey ahead of you and Mr Angetti wants you out of here as quickly as possible. I haven't got a change of clothes for you here but there'll be some clean stuff waiting for you both at the cottage." Cooper sharpened his voice. "Are you listening to me?"

Lost in thought, Doyle's bowed head snapped up, his expression one of cold dislike. Cooper watched him through wary eyes, recognising the inherent danger in this man. Given half the chance, Doyle would bring the house down around their ears, fortunately Gary had given him a heavy handicap.

"Save it," Cooper advised him, recognising all the signs of pent up anger. "You're going to need all your energy to look after your partner. Have you had any experience of helping anyone through this kind of situation?"

Doyle buried his nose in his mug of coffee. "I used to be in the Met," he said without emotion.

"On the Rape Squad?"

"It hadn't been set up in my day."

"At least you've had some experience of the problems rape victims face," said Cooper, able to visualise mayhem otherwise. Johnny wouldn't thank him for a wrecked cottage.

"Some," Doyle said bleakly.

Cooper saw only the anger. "Well, I would say do what comes naturally, but I don't think that would do your partner much good. That's something you'll have to work out as you go along. Just..." he hesitated. "Try to get him to talk it out and button your own lip."

"You've missed your vocation," said Doyle unpleasantly. "You should have joined the Samaritans."

Cooper quashed a surge of anger. "You know best. Do you want any breakfast?"

Finding even the thought of food disgusting, Doyle shook his head, then winced. "You're sure Bodie hasn't got internal injuries - that he won't need more medical care than I can give him? I've taken out the odd bullet but my medical knowledge doesn't go much beyond basic first aid."

"Positive. I've put a kit together for you. Painkillers - don't exceed the recommended dosage. Antiseptic cream for your wrists and his back, if he'll let you apply it. Take it easy with him."

"Ah, and there was me planning on - " Rising to his feet, Doyle stopped on a shuddering breath and visibly swayed. "Listen, these painkillers. I can't think straight with them inside me and I can't move much without them. I need something to keep me going. Have you got any uppers? Coke, if not?"

Cooper just looked at him.

"I haven't got any money but this watch is worth a bit," added Doyle, not troubling to hide his contempt.

Scowling, Cooper left the room.

He returned to find Doyle leaning against the wall of the shower. Remaining in the doorway he tossed a small phial over to him.

"Speed. Gary used them when he was off-duty. Said they gave him that little extra. I hope you know what you're doing taking them."

"He obviously had a tame doctor. These haven't come off the streets," noted Doyle, leaving two of the small octagonal pills on his palm, before swallowing them dry. He shook the other pills back into the container and replaced the top. "I spent more than two years on the Drugs Squad. A week isn't going to turn me into a speed freak."

"Maybe not, but they won't do you any good mixed with those painkillers," replied Cooper tartly.

Doyle gave a disinterested shrug, feeling the fog left by the painkillers beginning to lift a little already. His main problem solved for him, he looked ruefully at the towel on the lower bar of the towel rain. He would have to bend to get that. Bugger.

Studying Doyle in a good light for the first time, Cooper gave a sympathetic whistle. "I can see why you're a bit tetchy this morning. You look terrible."

Wrapping the towel around himself and waiting for it to absorb moisture rather than apply any more pressure to his over-sensitive skin, Doyle gave another shrug. "It looks better than it feels," he offered wryly.

"Take a couple more painkillers." Cooper ignored Doyle's frown. "Why not? It won't matter if you flake out in the van and they'll have started to wear off by the time we get to the cottage."

"Why so concerned?" Doyle demanded, sinking with caution on to the edge of the bath and trying to work out the least painful method of getting dressed.

"I don't want you yelling down my ear the whole journey."

That had a ring of sincerity to it and Doyle gave the faintest grin of acknowledgement.

A few minutes later, realising the reason for the delay, Cooper helped him to dress. Rejecting his briefs and socks as unnecessary trivialities, Doyle gratefully accepted the offer of one of Cooper's jumpers rather than his own tee shirt, shirt and jacket. He couldn't face all the movement entailed in putting them on. The jeans, he decided grim-faced and sweating, were a mistake.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," replied Doyle tersely.

Cooper gave him a dubious look but accepted the obvious lie, then swore when he saw the time. "You'd better wake up Bodie. Give him a couple of tablets straight away."

Doyle nodded, then added, "Thanks," to Cooper's retreating back. On the point of leaving the bathroom he caught sight of his face in the mirror. Like something out of Hammer Horror, he thought wryly, grateful it hadn't occurred to him to shave. He started talking as soon as he entered the bedroom.

Waking with a start, Bodie's head snapped round in a disorientated mixture of panic and confusion. He relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Morning, sunshine. We've got to go soon. How d'you feel?"

Bodie blinked at the question. His memories of the previous day were blurred and confused, with only a few stark pictures clear in his mind. Amidst the lingering horrors were the various memories: of Doyle's voice, providing an anchor of sanity and a warmth which hadn't been limited to the offered physical support; of Ray's matter of fact tenderness; the familiar smell of sweat; his unexpected patience; his acceptance. It all added up to Ray Doyle. Propping himself up on to one elbow Bodie stared at him, and winced.

"I have to feel better than you look," he mumbled. "Did I keep you awake last night? You look knackered."

"Not for long. Anyway, I've got news for you, you don't look so hot yourself. We'll compare bruises later."

The grin he received was typical Bodie and the most beautiful sight he had seen for a long time. He nudged his fist against a dark-stubbled jaw.

"Want some coffee?"

Bodie thought about it. Deciding that the taste in his mouth could only improve, he nodded and swallowed the tablets handed to him without question. That compliance should have warned Doyle but he was feeling too ill to be alert for subtle nuances.

"Where are we going?" asked Bodie, not particularly interested but wanting to avoid anything that could remind him of yesterday. He could remember sobbing his heart out in Doyle's arms like some Victorian maiden. Cringing at the dent to his self-image, he repeated harshly, "Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure," replied Doyle equably. "Cooper said the journey will take a few hours, which leaves it wide open. As the cottage is supposed to be in the middle of nowhere my money's on Dartmoor, Wales - or maybe Scotland."

"Well, that certainly narrows it down. It sounds lovely," added Bodie, fighting to keep himself distanced from the intrusive memories. The too-easy tears threatened to overspill again. Tears for god's sake. Depositing his half-finished mug of coffee on the floor, he struggled to rise to his knees.

Hearing the sound of movement, Doyle turned from folding Bodie's clothes into a carrier bag. "And where do you think you're going?" he enquired.

"What's it look like?" Bodie replied breathlessly. He was on his knees by this time, the hand pressed to the wall taking his weight because he was aware of his own limitations. The room displayed a disconcerting tendency to dip and sway and he waited until it steadied before he started to edge backwards, seeking the edge of the bed. He flinched when he felt warm hands at his sides, steadying him, his eyes wide with panic before he forced himself to relax. It was only Ray. Well, who else would it be, he reminded himself. It didn't help much.

"Pass me that robe, would you, it's colder than I thought," he lied casually.

"I'm always telling you to eat your Shreddies, get that Windscale glow," said Doyle flippantly, his throat tightening as he recognised Bodie's fear-induced rigidity.

He helped Bodie into the robe, supporting him as he worked his arms into the sleeves and wincing almost the same time Bodie did when the pile of the towelling scraped his sore back. Drawing the folds around Bodie he fastened the belt for him, feeling awkward and self-conscious himself, which was the last thing Bodie needed.

"We'd better hope the van's heated or you're going to discover draughts in places you didn't know you'd got," he said, keeping his tone as light as he could.

"Oh, I think I'd know them by now," said Bodie dryly, withdrawing. He knew the cause of this new softness of Doyle's and wanted no part of it.

Doyle's face tightened fractionally. Cooper returned with Ken and Dave, saving him the necessity of finding any reply.

"Ready?" Cooper asked briskly. "Good. Let's see about getting you to the van then. Bodie, can you manage if Dave and Ken give you a hand?"

"Yes."

Staring at the set, cold face, Cooper just nodded, satisfied.

In fact Bodie discovered that he could walk fairly easily with Ken and Dave supporting him on either side, although he hated himself for the terror which gripped him as they approached, the sweat trickling clammily down his back.

He stopped halfway down the hall. "Where's Ray?" he asked, without turning.

"He's just had to stop for a moment," said Cooper calmly from behind him. "He'll be fine."

Satisfied, and in no mood to wonder too deeply at Doyle's sudden inability to manage a simple staircase, Bodie got underway again. The van was parked directly outside the back door, the spacious rear padded with two heavy quilts and several cushions. Ken and Dave eased him inside to lie on his stomach. Crawling in after him, Doyle tucked the spare quilt over him to keep out the frosty chill, knowing the shivers racking Bodie had little to do with the cold.

Stowing two bags on the floor in the front of the van and dismissing Ken and Dave, Cooper came round to him holding a pair of handcuffs.

"He won't - "

"These are for you," said Cooper harshly, not liking himself very much. He snapped one around Doyle's wrist, the other to the rail under the back of the front seat. "Just so I don't get any nasty surprises while I'm driving," he explained and slammed shut the rear doors.

 

Turning into the small driveway, Cooper brought the van to a halt and turned in the driving seat to stare at the two men behind him. Only Doyle was awake, looking up at him from pain-bright eyes.

"Are you all right?" Cooper demanded brusquely, beginning to wonder whether Doyle's injuries might not be more serious than he had supposed. But the track leading down to the cottage was almost a mile of ruts and pot-holes, which probably accounted for his lack of colour.

"Fine," mumbled Doyle, moving away from Bodie, who had not stirred through even the roughest portion of the journey. Protected by quilts and cushions from the wall of the van on one side, Doyle had used his own body as a buffer on the other to prevent Bodie from being tossed out of his warm cocoon. For his own part, he hurt everywhere; Cooper's style of driving making Bodie's seem sedate in comparison.

"Good. I'll unlock the place, turn on the heating and water and come back for you two."

Doyle nodded with a drug-induced lack of interest.

Cooper was back in a few minutes to unfasten the handcuffs. Stiff and disorientated once he was woken, Bodie was of little help in the journey from van to the cottage. Cooper took as much of Bodie's weight as he could but by the time they had reached the small bedroom every nerve in Doyle's body was screaming for relief. With Bodie safely back in bed and asleep again within seconds, Doyle cast a cursory glance around.

Small, clean and relatively modern, the cottage looked the sort of place he wouldn't mind renting himself in different circumstances, he thought muzzily as he propped himself up against the wall.

It was an effort to concentrate on what he was being told. In the end he gave up any pretence of listening, waiting for the pain to subside.

"Just lock up after me, take a couple more tablets yourself and get some sleep," advised Cooper in parting. "A taxi will be here ten days from now, at eleven o'clock. All right?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks," said Doyle numbly. He locked the heavy front door of the flintstone cottage and stumbled back up the stairs, having to pause on the landing. There was only one other bedroom. Pushing open the door, longing for sleep, he stopped abruptly on the threshold, wondering if Cooper had more imagination than he gave him credit for in selecting the other, smaller room for Bodie.

The bedroom was clean, neat and warm, smelling only of polish. The main item of furniture, dominating the room, was a large double bed, the brass rails at the head and foot gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the latticed windows. Doyle saw only another brass bed in another room and a handcuffed figure. He left the room without pausing to see any more.

Bodie hadn't stirred. Grateful for the respite, Doyle sank down into the armchair in the corner of Bodie's room. The chair was lumpy and agony to get into. He was asleep within seconds.

oOo

Unrefreshed and heavy-eyed, Bodie stirred, then groaned as his stiffened muscles screamed their protest. Lying still, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, tensing as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. About to investigate further, relief made him smile when he recognised the figure asleep in an armchair in the corner of the room. This must be that cottage Ray had mentioned earlier.

Feeling lethargic and dull-witted from his drug-induced sleep, he yawned. Some events of the last twenty-four hours were confused, his perception blurred by painkillers, shock and the automatic defensive mechanism that had tried to distance him from what was happening. A few memories were all too vivid however and Bodie knew that he wanted a shower, very badly.

It took more effort to leave the bed than he had anticipated. By the time he reached the bedroom door he was trembling, sweat streaming down his face as he gripped the door frame for support.

"Hang on, mate, where's the fire?" Doyle's voice, still husky with sleep, was at his shoulder.

Turning with a noticeable reluctance, Bodie met concerned green eyes and felt awkward in Doyle's presence as he had never done before. "I need to... The bathroom," he mumbled, too embarrassed to explain what he actually wanted.

Sensing his unease, Doyle stepped back a pace. "No problem," he said easily. "I'll see you there - and wait outside the door," he added quickly, having seen Bodie tense. "You'll soon be steadier on your legs, it's those painkillers, they pack one hell of a punch. Once you've finished in there I'll see about getting some food. It's time you ate something. How d'you fancy some soup?"

To his surprise Bodie realised he was hungry. He paused at the bathroom door, self-consciousness slipping away. "Is that all?"

Reassured, Doyle gave a faint grin. "I expect I can find something else to keep body and soul together. I'll see what the kitchen has to offer. Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

One hand halfway to the control of the shower Bodie just looked at him, his expression one of unconscious pleading.

"Not yet," said Doyle gently. "Give your back a chance to heal a bit first."

"I'm having a shower," Bodie insisted with something more than mere stubbornness. He ignored the fact that even standing upright unaided was still something of an ordeal.

His face bleak with understanding Doyle stopped arguing. "Fair enough. Can you manage all right by yourself?"

There was no way Bodie was about to admit otherwise; realising as much Doyle gave a resigned nod and turned to leave. His back to Bodie, he paused and added abruptly: "We've known each other too long to prat about, if you need anything, call me, OK?"

He had to wait for what seemed like forever before he heard the mumbled agreement.

Stopping outside the bathroom door, battening down all the protective instincts that told him to ignore Bodie's silent plea for privacy, Doyle heard the key turn in the lock. About to make some protest then, and bugger Bodie's embarrassment, he heard the faint click as the door was unlocked again moments later, followed by the first uneven splatter of water from the shower.

So Bodie still trusted him to that degree; his eyes closing with relief, having no idea what he could have done had the reverse been true, Doyle rested his head against the wall and waited.

When Bodie finally emerged from the steamy confines of the bathroom he was pale, shaking and smelling strongly of soap. Watching his every move with a poorly disguised anxiety, Doyle made no reference to the traces of blood which marked the back of the towelling robe across the broad shoulders.

"Where do you want to eat?" he enquired casually, as if he had nothing better to do than stand in a draughty hall propping up the wall. "It's warmer in your room than downstairs."

While that did not fool Bodie for a moment he opted for the sanctuary of his room without seeking to justify his choice, even to himself. Engrossed in thought he did not notice Doyle make his painful way downstairs. The ease with which a simple task like taking a shower could reduce him to a quivering wreck was something that both angered and frightened Bodie. What was worse, in the shower he had realised that someone must have already cleaned him up the previous day, tending to his hurts while he was unconscious. They had made a thorough job of it too, all traces of... He couldn't imagine Cooper thinking of it, which left Doyle, who knowing what Davis had planned to do to him, had witnessed the aftermath, had seen him...

Bloody hell.

Stripped of even the illusion of dignity, Bodie shuddered. He had no conscious image of himself, or of his relationship with Doyle but from an early age he had been accustomed to being in control of his life, unused to being in a vulnerable position, at the mercy of anyone else's whim. Yesterday...He’d been powerless to save himself, never mind Doyle, totally helpless, mentally and physically. His physical failure was nothing in comparison to the knowledge that Doyle had seen him break, that Ray must share the contempt he felt for himself. He had crumbled the moment he set eyes on Davis, overwhelmed by old memories and fears, experiencing the same skin-prickling revulsion Davis had inspired in him all those years ago. There was no one reason for it - like all phobias it was irrational. He was enough of a realist to know that because of it Davis would always have had a psychological advantage over him, no matter how many years had passed between their meeting, or the circumstances in which they met. This encounter had been worse than any nightmare his subconscious could have conjured up, not least because Doyle had been there, seeing it all.

No secrets.

Bodie blinked against the stinging in his eyes, despising himself. Doyle must be wondering when he would breakdown again, resigned to a week of tending to hysterics and offering bed baths. Not that Ray wouldn't do it and do it well but he didn't want that from Ray. He didn't want what they had, whatever that might be, to change.

Except change was inevitable. In Bodie's view subtle changes had already taken place in their relationship. Hyper-sensitive to every nuance between Doyle and himself, even as he tried to close himself off from his partner, something within Bodie had curled in upon itself in a futile defence against the pain and a sense of humiliation far greater than anything Davis had inflicted upon him.

The physical assault... Rape, he reminded himself grim-faced. Admit it. You've been fucked against your will. Rape. There, not so hard to admit, is it? But it was, and made all the harder because he was unconsciously convinced that the rape must have diminished him in Doyle's eyes.

He was in no mental state to wonder why the loss of Doyle's respect should matter quite so much to him.

His physical injuries were minor in comparison to some he had received in his life, within a week or so the worst of the physical marks would have faded. He pulled the sheet higher around himself. So why did he feel so - dirty?

It hadn't, when all was said and done, been as bad as it could have been. And perhaps that had been the worst of it, waiting, spreadeagled for Davis' pleasure after all the long hours of waiting in the gym. Too many hours of visualising himself reduced to the state he had seen one of Davis' ex-victims reduced to.

That was the crux of it, that he had been helpless to do anything to stop it happening.

The humiliation of the damp, hurting hands being replaced by an engorged bulk that had invaded his revulsion-tight body, the moment when he'd thought he had felt the viscous heat of Davis within him, the disgust as that cooling heat seeped from him, drying stickily and tightening his skin.

"Here you go, mate. Wrap your laughing gear round this," said a familiar voice, making Bodie jump.

His face wiped clean of all expression, Bodie refocused to find Doyle standing at the side of the bed holding a laden tray. Automatically he reached out and took it. His entire attention concentrated on the contents of the tray, he did not notice Doyle, other than an obtrusive presence for whom an effort must be made.

"Where's yours?" he asked with little real interest, willing his hand not to shake as he picked up his fork. The mundane action steadied him and after the first mouthful if was easier.

"I grabbed a sandwich while I was making it," Doyle lied. The very smell of the mixed grill cooking had nauseated him, the painkillers he had taken doing nothing but increase the fog in his brain. Physically he was a mess, finding it difficult to stand straight from the grinding pain in his ribs. Deep-seated bruising over two-thirds of his torso had left his flesh so swollen over his kidneys and so tender elsewhere that even the jeans and jumper he wore were coming to seem unendurable encumbrances. The effort of pretending that nothing was wrong was already taking its toll, the more so because Bodie was making him feel like the invisible man.

Seemingly satisfied with Doyle's's explanation, Bodie proceeded to demolish the meal that had been prepared for him.

Leaning back against the wall because it was easier than trying to sit down, Doyle speculated aloud as to their possible whereabouts. Bodie's replies were monosyllabic and finally Doyle gave up. By the time Bodie had finished eating, he no longer needed the support of the wall to remain on his feet.

"I'll see to your back when I've got rid of this," Doyle said, his tone determinedly casual as he took up the tray.

Dark eyes met his in instinctive denial. "No."

"It needs seeing to, mate. You're bleeding over the sheets," Doyle pointed out, careful to avoid any hint of the dramatic. Yesterday Bodie had accepted his touch without a thought, today he was coming out of shock. The anger was only to be expected and he made a safe target. Besides, it _was_ partly his fault for letting it happen.

"I'm fine," said Bodie, willing his desperation not to show.

Recognising the near panic in the eyes that slid away from his own and the tense, curled hands, Doyle did not insist. It would do more harm than good to push at the moment.

"Fair enough, but take it easy today, eh? Tomorrow, too. We could both use a rest. You want a cup of tea or anything?" It was not what he wanted to say but anything else seemed impossible in the face of the wall of silence Bodie was erecting around himself.

"What I'd really like is to be left alone," Bodie snapped savagely, resenting being made to feel like a bedridden old lady of eighty.

"What's wrong?" Hovering at the foot of the bed, Doyle could have winced at his own clumsiness.

Bodie raised an incredulous eyebrow. " _Wrong_? What the hell could be wrong?" he asked sarcastically, quashing his impulse to lash out at the only available person. He took a steadying breath. "Look, I'm tired. You look like you could use some sleep yourself," he added, not looking at Doyle at all. "Probably because I kept you up most of last night."

"You didn't." Realising he could not reach this hard-faced stranger Doyle fell silent, conscious of the inimical gaze boring into him.

"Didn't yell my head off or haul you out of bed to shut me up? Funny, that's not how I remember it."

"If you remember so much, you'll remember me saying it was OK, I didn't and don't mind," Doyle snapped, holding on to the ragged ends of his temper only with difficulty.

"Good for you, mate."

Gripping the tray too hard, Doyle remained where he was, his eyes widening with comprehension. "Is that what bothers you the most, the fact I'm here?"

Bodie stared through him for a long, unfriendly moment. "Place yourself a bit high on the scale of importance of things, don't you?" he said eventually. "No, what really bothers me is - Yeah, the fact I'm stuck up here with no one but you for a week. Get off my back."

"I'll see about getting us out of here tomorrow," Doyle promised, finding speech unexpectedly difficult. "I thought we could, that I would be able... I think you should try and talk about it. Get it out of your system." He had thought he understood what lay behind Bodie's defensive anger and resentment of himself, had thought he had been braced for that reaction. Only now did he realise that he had neglected to take account of his own emotional involvement.

Hard eyes met his in unflinching rebuttal. "Oh, so you think I should talk about it, do you? Yeah, well you probably would. Sorry to disappoint you, mate but you'll have to wait to hear all the salacious little details. Try to sneak a look at my report to Cowley if you're so hot to find out. I knew you had wide-ranging interests but I didn't realise they were this perverted."

By this time Bodie was addressing an empty room.

The mental images Bodie had conjured up all too vivid, Doyle dumped the tray on the hall floor and just made it to the bathroom in time. His hands grasping the porcelain of the toilet bowl he lost the glass of water he had drunk in lieu of lunch and more fluid besides.

oOo

 

Bodie woke with a start, his teeth clamped in his lower lip against the cry struggling to free itself.

You couldn't beat a good night's sleep, he thought sardonically. He must try it some time. His skin prickled with the sweat of fear and reverting to childhood he lay very still, afraid of what might be lurking out in the darkness behind the fringe of light.

So now he was to relive every lousy memory. Davis was almost the least of it, more the catalyst who had brought to life every other long repressed horror, he thought with bitter self-pity, his fingers unclenching in a nail-scored palm.

That was over, done with, concentrate on something else.

He discovered that was easier said than done, there seemed to be nothing else. It was still dark and except for the wind-driven sleet lashing against the windows and an occasional gurgle from the central heating, silent. Feeling very alone, he continued to lie there, his breathing rate slowing as tension drained away. Finally back in control he slid cautiously up the bed, his expression growing bleaker at the physical reminders sent by his still sore body.

Davis.

Gone but not forgotten.

Don't think about it, think about...something else. Anything else.

Glancing around the silhouettes in the darkened room with dislike, Bodie's mouth compressed when he identified one of the blurred outlines as the sprawled figure of Doyle, slumped in the armchair. The last thing he wanted was company, least of all Doyle's. What he craved most was a day or so to recover in privacy and then to get back to work. Out on the streets it was easier to push personal concerns to the back of the mind, imperative to do so if he wanted to survive. And above all else he was a survivor.

For all that, he was in no mental state to acknowledge how unfit he was for duty, or how difficult he would find it to work with Doyle with any degree of efficiency, never mind ease. He wanted intense, all-consuming mental and physical activity, anything that would blank out the memory of what had been done to him. Wilfully determined that he had recovered from the effects of Davis' rape, he made no attempt to try to come to terms with his confused mental state, or his sense of loss.

At least Doyle had had the satisfaction of landing Davis one. And that had been an opportunity missed, Bodie thought unfairly, forgetting the reality of the fight and its aftermath.

Talk it out, Doyle said.

His muscles tightening involuntarily, Bodie closed his eyes on a wave of self-disgust. It was easy for Ray to say. What did he know about - ?

Too much.

Closing his mind to that line of thought, Bodie's eyes snapped open as he tried to come up with something he could do. While it might not be much, it would be better than lying here, feeling sorry for himself. Leaving the bed, he took another protracted shower, cleansing himself with meticulous care. It was difficult not to flinch at his own touch.

He knew, in some still rational corner of his mind, that his feelings of self-loathing were not unique and on one level he wanted to try and explain his pain and confusion. Pride and a perverse resentment kept him silent. As far as he was concerned the parameters of his relationship with Doyle had changed the moment he had broken down in front of him. It was something he was determined would not happen again.

Yearning for the warmth and understanding that Doyle was trying to offer, Bodie felt only shame at this need so newly woken in him. Doyle had been an important part of his life for so long that Bodie took his feelings for the other man for granted. He gave to Doyle in all ways. He was only just beginning to realise that he did not want to take the same kind of emotional support from Doyle, not from this position of weakness.

He and Ray were equals, always had been, always would be.

Until now.

By the time he finally emerged from the bathroom Bodie was unsteady with exhaustion, wanting only to burrow under the bedclothes and hide, just for a while. He stopped abruptly inside the bedroom door, noting the changes that had been made to the room with no pleasure at all. The glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm pool of light around the bed, which had been remade, the pillows stacked invitingly and a steaming mug of tea sat on the bedside table. Looking across the width of the bed Bodie saw that Doyle, his forearms propped on the back of the armchair, was smiling at him. He scowled and thrust his hands into the pockets of the robe he wore.

"You woke up early this morning. I've made you some tea," Doyle added unnecessarily. Aware of the constraint in his voice, he could do nothing about it.

Angered by the wariness in Doyle's manner, Bodie was sullenly determined to justify its presence as he got back into bed. "I can see that. I gather you spent the night in here again." He drew a defensive breath even while he prepared for the attack. "I know you like to make a martyr of yourself but this is taking things a bit far, isn't it? What's up, you afraid of the dark all of a sudden, or don't you trust me to be alone?" he enquired with sudden savagery.

Doyle's hands swept open in a gesture of conciliation. "I thought you might need - "

" - a helping shoulder? Forget it. I've had about all the help I want from you. Besides, it's a bit late in the day, isn't it?"

Doyle's eyes dropped at the accusation implicit in that brutal statement, the expression on Bodie's face a telling revelation of contempt. Hurt, Bodie was launching into the attack even while he continued to deny there was anything wrong. Doyle understood that, and was prepared to be made the scapegoat if it would help but he knew it would not provide a long term cure. Until Bodie admitted what had happened and began to talk it through, until he came to terms with it, nothing could help. Gathering his breath, prepared to try again, Doyle was forestalled.

"What exactly are you hoping for while you're hovering around like some bloody vulture?" Bodie demanded.

His hands curled over the chair back for support, Doyle straightened. "That you'll trust me enough to talk about it," he said with a quiet simplicity that slid under Bodie's defences. "It can help to talk things out, or even just to have a friendly face around. I should know, you've done it for me enough times."

"Talk? To _you_?"

Incredulity was the cruellest response Bodie could have made, the pain it caused all the greater because it was clearly unstudied. Doyle's gaze became fixed on a point somewhere above the dark head. He knew he must be going about this the wrong way. There must some fault in him for Bodie to find the idea so ludicrous. They had shared so much, knew each other so well, that he had believed they could talk about almost anything, that one could seek help from the other as a matter of course, without feeling diminished in any way. At Angetti's house he had been so certain he could help Bodie. So bloody certain.

Doyle's thought processes came to a rambling halt. He knew he was physically and mentally below par, his behaviour reflecting his new self-consciousness. The latter was easily explained. The fleeting revulsion he had glimpsed in Bodie's eyes the night before last was not easily forgotten. Because of it Doyle had tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, muting his every action and response as best he could. The attempt had made him physically inept, while every conversation was coming to seem riddled with traps in case he made Bodie flinch from him again. That jarring awareness of their lack of ease with each other was getting worse and he didn't know what he could do about it. What had never occurred to him was that Bodie would close him out as if he was no more than a passing acquaintance.

Strung out on amphetamines and tension Doyle slumped on to the edge of the bed, with no idea of what he could - or should - do next.

"Quite comfortable, are you?"

The edgy quality to Bodie's voice drew Doyle from his stupor. Looking up, his face was stark with shocked acceptance. "You - You can't even stand me sitting this close, can you?" he whispered, aghast.

"Don't be bloody stupid," dismissed Bodie with impatience.

Adrift from all he thought he knew, Doyle had no idea where they went from here. "What is it then?" He recognised the moment he was shut out with one lying shake of a head.

"Nothing."

"Nothing!" Doyle paused to take several calming breaths. "Then what's all this about? Do you want to needle me into a fight, give you an excuse to let all the anger out? Is that it?" The edge vanished from his voice as quickly as it had arrived. "If that'll help, do it. Just tell me what you need. Don't shut me out like this."

The bewildered misery in that soft-voiced appeal almost broke Bodie. Abruptly he wanted to do nothing more than to spill out his confusion of hurt and humiliation, his rage at his impotence to stop it happening. Ray was a good mate. He'd understand. Fine. Ray was one of the best. That didn't mean he was going to leave himself wide open, exposing every vulnerability.

"Is this part of the treatment for rape victims? Lecture number three while you were at Hendon, was it? You're not very good at it." Holding grimly to the remnants of his anger, Bodie refused to recognise the expression in Doyle's eyes.

Doyle's shoulders slumped as he shook his head, refusing to allow his own grief to spill over. "Do you think I don't know what you're going through?" He extended one hand, about to hug that stubborn figure to him in an attempt to exorcise all the hurt that had left Bodie like this. His move was blocked with a jarring blow.

"So you know what it's like, do you?" savaged Bodie. "Well, you tell me about it, _partner_." He could feel his control slipping, his voice shaking despite all his efforts. "You arrogant, ignorant bastard. You know _nothing_! What does it take to get through to you? I don't need your help, let alone want it. You want to do something, you find a way to get us back to civilisation. Even you should be able to find a phone. Or do you want me to go instead?" he added with a wounding contempt.

Stupid with surprise, Doyle stared at him. "You think I wouldn't have gone already if - " He stopped. Now wasn’t the time to explain how lousy he felt. It would be an invitation to disaster with Bodie feeling he must prove himself. That bloody pride of his, he thought with a flash of anger at his own impotence to do anything but leave Bodie, as he wanted, alone. Neither of them were in any shape for a cross-country hike in this weather, but at least he had the sense to admit it. But given that he couldn't help Bodie, maybe there was someone in London who could.

"Well, do I have to go?" demanded Bodie.

Refocusing, Doyle remembered the question. "No," he said quietly. "I'll get ready and go now." Starting toward the door, he refused to clutch at the pain in his side.

"You'll be better waiting until the rain eases up," Bodie announced.

His throat tight, Doyle nodded.

"You - you won't go without telling me?" Bodie added, with a hesitancy which caught his listening partner like a kick in the guts.

Bodie, who with two broken legs normally had to been tied down, voluntarily staying in bed, hiding from the world. Gripping the doorframe with unnecessary force, Doyle did not turn.

"No, I wouldn't do that," he confirmed quietly. "I'll set off when the rain eases up." He only discovered that his eyes were damp when he got downstairs.

If anything, the weather worsened as the day progressed, rain lashing the thick walls of the sturdily built cottage. Apart from remarking that no one in their right minds would go out in it, Bodie made no further reference to contacting CI5 headquarters. In fact he said little else that day.

Distant and punctiliously polite, he thanked Doyle for every small service with a chilling lack of warmth. As the day dragged on Doyle hardly noticed; it was as much as he could do to keep on his feet, the stairs seeming steeper each time he had to climb them. By evening physical discomfort and the amphetamines he was taking at too frequent intervals had left him ready to bounce off the walls. Muscles twitching under his skin, it was impossible to sleep. Exhausted, he spent his second night at the cottage lying on the sofa with the living room door open as he listened to the rain, waiting in case Bodie should need him.

If Bodie did, he gave no indication of it.


	3. Chapter 3

By the third morning Doyle had the appearance of a technicoloured nightmare and was walking like a man of eighty. The deluge of rain was turning what could be seen of the track into a sea of mud. Having accepted in the small hours of the night that the only useful thing he could do for Bodie was to get them back to London, Doyle ventured out at first light to try and establish what route he should take. Due to the undulating terrain his choice was limited by his poor physical condition. Common sense dictated that the steep escarpments of gorse and heather were beyond him. That left the track, which he knew led to a minor road; roads meant people. Wherever you went in Britain, sooner or later a car went by.

Trying to convince himself of that as he stood listening to the silence, Doyle returned to the cottage, numbed by the raw cold. Drinking a glass of water in the hope it would clear his muzzy head, distant sounds from the bathroom proclaimed that Bodie was awake and taking a shower.

Tired of smelling his own stale sweat, Doyle gave his jeans and jumper a wry look. Because the simple task of undressing required more energy than he possessed he had stayed dirty and uncomfortable. He might have been able to manage if he'd taken enough painkillers but he knew he couldn't afford to take any more, they were too strong. Telling himself he would feel better once he started walking, he stretched a body which was jangling with tension. He stifled a moan as his ribs and the deep-seated pain in his belly protested at the same time.

Wonderful.

Fumbling in a pocket, Doyle took two more of the pills Cooper had given him then, considering the matter, two more.

Dressed for the first time in three days, wearing the cords and jumper he had found in the Marks and Spencer carrier bag left for their use, Bodie walked into the kitchen with every appearance of ease in time to see Doyle take his jacket from the chair back. Propping a shoulder against the door jamb Bodie recognised something out of kilter about Doyle's appearance, without being interested enough to wonder what might have caused it.

"Finally had enough, have you?" he enquired in an even tone. By Doyle's lack of reaction Bodie knew Doyle must have heard him approach and chosen not to acknowledge his presence until he had no choice.

"No." Doyle still did not turn to greet him. "But there'll be a full-scale search going on for us. We need to let London know we're still alive. I don't suppose it'll be difficult to find a phone, we can't be that isolated." It was hard to care. His voice seemed to be coming from some great distance, his skin crawling with tension, while blood thumped erratically in his ears.

"Think you'll get far in that?" Bodie jerked his head toward the torrential rain pounding against the window.

"You want to be marooned here with me for another three days?" Doyle's voice was devoid of expression.

Bodie's silence gave Doyle his reply.

Keeping his back to Bodie, Doyle dragged on the jacket he had been holding. The sound of pain which escaped him was lost in the roar as a strong gust of wind hit the window.

"I'll see you later," said Doyle, when he trusted his voice. "Don't forget to lock up behind me." Expecting only the silence he received, he slipped out the back door into the full force of the storm.

His head hunched into his upturned collar, his hands rammed into his pockets, he set off down the track, trying to keep his stride smooth and even to reduce the jolting. The first hundred yards or so were relatively easy but when he left the shelter of the hedgerow he met the full force of the wind head on and had to brace himself to keep his balance. Here the track was ankle deep in mud and laced with treacherously concealing puddles. Stumbling on a hidden stone, Doyle skidded off-balance and fell, twisting his side.

 

Alone in the cottage Bodie gave an unconscious sigh of relief as he bolted the back door. His legs still had a disconcerting tendency to wobble and his back was sore but that apart he felt close to normal, both physically and mentally, if a little distanced from everything around him.

His previous night's sleep had been untroubled by dreams of any kind, possibly because he had spent half the night meticulously reading every word of the two paperbacks he had found in his room until the print had blurred on the page. He had no recollection of what he had read but the books had served his purpose.

He made himself breakfast and ate it quickly, with a view to replenishing his energy levels rather than for enjoyment. Needing to keep busy, he cleared away immediately, giving the simple task all his attention. The washing up done, he made himself some fresh tea and carried the mug through with him as he wandered aimlessly around the ground floor, noting the simple but comfortable furnishings and clear signs of recent occupation. It would be easy enough to check to whom the cottage belonged when they got back to London.

With no wish to follow that thought through, he looked for something with which to pass the time. Even the central heating was quiet at the moment, the only sound that of the wind lashing rain against the windows. The few paperbacks propped on the shelf of a cheap cabinet offered nothing of interest. Finding a dog-eared pack of cards, Bodie seated himself gingerly at the table, shuffled and started to deal himself poker hands, rediscovering a skill he had not used for a number of years.

 

His mind elsewhere, Bodie automatically switched off the steaming kettle, deaf to the first thud on the door. Eventually the sound of banging drew him back to the present. While he had waited for the kettle to boil the kitchen had grown dark, even at this relatively early hour; he flicked on the lights, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright glare. One hand on the sturdy top bolt of the back door, he belatedly realised the stupidity of what he was about to do. It wasn't likely to be anyone but Doyle, but if he’d learnt anything from his life to date it was to take nothing for granted.

"Ray?"

The howling wind and thickness of the door muffled any reply.

Going to the old-fashioned drawers under the sink, Bodie selected a sharp, broad-bladed knife and tucked it under the tight, concealing cuff of the sweater he wore before he opened the door.

Doyle, soaking wet and plastered with mud down one side, was draped against the brickwork. He looked a mess.

"What happened to you?" demanded Bodie, too taken aback to think of drawing Doyle into shelter.

Focussing only with difficulty, Doyle blinked at him. "I fell over," he said simply, as if it was a usual occurrence for him. "Can I come in? 'S cold out here." He lurched stiffly past Bodie's stupefied figure.

"You got through to London, then? Where are we?"

The door secured, Bodie slid the knife from his sleeve and replaced it in the drawer. He had a defensive comment prepared if Doyle should make any crack about his over-dramatic preparations but propped against the wall Doyle did not even notice. As he shook his head water and dirt dripped from his hair into his eyes.

"As far as I can tell we're in the middle of nowhere. I made it to the road at the end of the track. Waited for a car. There isn't much traffic up here." Doyle's voice trailed away, unable to remember what he had been about to say.

"And?" The impatience in Bodie's life stirred him back to life.

"The car didn't stop." An arm curved in useless protection around his middle, Doyle gave a soft, shuddering sigh. "I dunno why."

Bodie heard only the lack of concern. "You look like a bloody tramp, that's why. Christ, how bleeding incompetent can you get? It didn't occur to you to smarten yourself up a bit before you tried to hitch a lift? Or at least to shave?" He paused to draw an angry breath. "You didn't exactly put yourself out, did you, walking to the end of the track."

The accusation slow to penetrate the fog in his brain, Doyle looked up at Bodie. "I couldn't get any farther," he explained, telling the unvarnished truth because he felt too ill to be able to think of a lie.

It had taken him over an hour to get that far. The roadway, flat and exposed to the driving sleet, had been devoid of life, the horizon lacking any sign of habitation or signposts. Afraid of setting off in the wrong direction and then lacking the strength to return to Bodie, Doyle had stayed where he was, waiting for some vehicle to come along. Eventually an old transit van had appeared. He couldn't remember much after he had leapt off the road to avoid being mown down. He had recovered consciousness in the shallow ditch by the side of the road. It had taken him some time before he managed to get to his feet and clamber out. Sodden and shaking with the cold, he had realised that if he stayed out much longer he wouldn't be able to make it back to the cottage, one lousy mile away.

Bodie gave him a look of glancing contempt. "Oh, marvellous. You've put so much effort into this anyone would think you liked being stuck out here. While I think of it, once you got a lift back to civilization what were you planning to use as proof of identification?"

Doyle squinted at him, hoping to get the world in focus. "What?"

"Well, you were carrying some ID on you, I suppose?"

The room beginning to dip and sway, Doyle knew only that he could not cope with this kind of interrogation right now, least of all from Bodie. And he didn't understand what lay behind the question. Patting his jacket pocket, he gave what was intended to be a reassuring smile.

"You won't mind if I don't take your word for that?" said Bodie.

Beyond being insulted, Doyle blinked owlishly at him.

Covering the space between them in a few angry strides, Bodie reached into Doyle's inside pocket. Finding it empty, he ostentatiously checked every other pocket of Doyle's jacket and stepped back the moment he had finished his search.

"No ID and no money, Ray. You see Tony must have taken everything from us before he brought us here. You would know that if you'd taken the trouble to check before you left. But I suppose even that elementary task was too much effort for you."

"'M tired," Doyle mumbled, flinching from the biting contempt in Bodie's too soft voice.

"Well you go and have a lie down then, mate. Save your strength." Bodie's heavy irony was wasted.

"Think I will," Doyle conceded. Pushing himself away from the wall more by effort of will than any physical reserves of strength, he left the kitchen.

Still standing on the same spot, Bodie swivelled round and stared after him, incredulity on his face. If he didn't know it was impossible he would swear Doyle was drunk. He had seen Ray in every state of intoxication from the convivial, through the lightly pissed, to the completely plastered but he had never seen him like this.

Shrugging that aside, it occurred to Bodie that from their point of view Doyle's failure to get through the headquarters did not matter over much. He would set off himself tomorrow at first light. The idea of doing something constructive, even at such a minor level, was attractive. He had been drifting aimlessly for too long. Besides, he would rather make any explanations which became necessary himself. Wondering how little he could get away with telling Cowley, he made himself some more tea. Leaning back against the edge of the table, he drank it with a pleasure which had been beyond him that morning.

It was only when he put his mug in the sink that Bodie noticed the patches of moisture on the quarry-tiled floor and the damp, dirty mark on the wall where Doyle had leant against it. Glancing up as the wind rattled the windows, the mixture of rain and sleet continuing to hurtle against them, Bodie realised Doyle hadn't been dressed to meet the elements.

The poor sod would be frozen. And fed up.

It was some time since Bodie had voluntarily thought of Doyle in any other light than an obtrusive presence for whom an effort must be made. Now his attention was beginning to turn outwards again. Today he felt... He paused to consider just how he did feel, gingerly probing raw memories.

His legs were still shaky and he felt a bit sore but the scalding sense of humiliation had muted to a faint unease. He had been raped; it was an experience he would take good care to avoid happening again but the physical assault couldn't change him unless he allowed it to. He had hardly thought of Davis all day - or of anything else for that matter. Hours had trickled away while he concentrated on the fall of the cards. What was it Kate Ross called it? Displacement activity, that was it. It hadn't been a conscious decision on his part but the respite had been exactly what his battered emotions had needed.

Emerging from his near trance-like detachment from everything around him, Bodie frowned as he noticed the wet floor. Ray must have been sodden to have left that much mess behind. The silly bugger going out in a storm wearing only that beaten-up old jacket of his. Still, he hadn't exactly received the Prodigal's welcome home. Refilling the kettle, Bodie set about making Doyle some tea. Before going upstairs to Doyle's room he added a generous measure of whisky.

Doyle's bedroom was in darkness. Bodie flicked on the light and cast a puzzled glance around, unable to see any sign that the other man was in occupation; there were none of the usual chaotic signs. Guessing that Doyle must be taking a much needed shower, Bodie lent over to set the mug on the small table at the bedside but tripped on a fold of the rucked-up rug. Barely saving the mug of tea, which sloshed everywhere, the bedside lamp and ashtray fell to the floor as he stumbled into the table. Swearing, he retrieved the lamp. With the typical perversity of inanimate objects the ashtray was out of reach, having rolled under the bed to rest against the skirting board. Preferring not to test his inclined-to-be-shaky strength by trying to shift the solidly constructed bed that lacked the innovation of castors, Bodie knelt on the mattress and tried to reach from that position. His fingers hovering a few frustrating inches from their target, he flattened himself on to his stomach and wriggled his arm farther through the narrow gap between the brass bedrail and the divan. The bed springs groaned and squeaked with every tiny movement he made as he groped for the ashtray.

Something breaking into his concentration, some sixth sense made him freeze, turn and look across the room. Doyle stood in the doorway, one arm wrapped around his ribs, his other hand clamped to the door frame. Bodie noticed only the stark horror in the too brilliant eyes and the fact Doyle was shaking beyond hope of concealment.

"Is there someone outside?" Bodie asked urgently. Freeing his arm from the small space it had been trapped in, he hurried to Doyle's side.

His face ashen, Doyle opened his mouth, tried to speak and shook his head. He had taken a couple of amphetamines and hoped for the miracle of mobility. Painkillers would have helped but he seemed to have lost the few which had remained, probably in one of his many falls on his way back to the cottage. He had been leaning against the wall of the bathroom, no closer to undressing than unfastening the belt to his jeans, when he heard the crash. Frozen for a split second, when he moved it was on instinct alone as that noise was followed by the never-to-be-forgotten sound of bed springs squeaking rhythmically. Bursting into the room he had seen Bodie sprawled on the bed, one hand clenched around the bedrail. And he was back in Davis' sitting-room, listening impotently to the sound of Davis torturing and raping Bodie.

"If there's nothing wrong outside, what is it?" Bodie asked more gently. "You look really rough."

Giddy with relief, Doyle could feel the burning prickle of over-reaction stinging his eyes. Sagging against the support of the wall, he squeezed his eyelids against the betraying moisture.

"I heard the crash and I thought - "

"I tripped on the rug and knocked some stuff off the table and under the bed. I was fumbling for the ashtray when you came in." Bodie stopped concentrating on what he was saying as he studied Doyle's face under a good light.

Doyle hadn't been drunk when he came back, just on the verge of collapse. He looked terrible, most visible portions of skin covered with multi-coloured bruising. What appalled Bodie were the lines engraved from nose to mouth that not even the heavy growth of stubble could disguise. His eyes brown-shadowed with fatigue, Doyle seemed to have aged ten years. Even standing still he was hunched at an angle which spoke of other injuries hidden from view.

In a state of near collapse, Ray had come charging in to rescue him.

His expression one of careful neutrality, Bodie shook his head in affectionate disbelief. Ray always had possessed more hair than sense. A fat lot of good he would be to anyone in this state. But Bodie's throat tightened when he realised he was witnessing Doyle's relief at finding he was unharmed. Warmth melted the last vestige of detachment, leaving Bodie trying to express his confusion of tenderness and exasperation: he failed.

"It was lucky nothing broke," he said with clumsy inconsequence. He fingered the muddy edge of Doyle's jacket. "Were you going to take a shower?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't look like you got far." Giving Doyle a chance to regain his shaken equilibrium, Bodie kept the conversation to trivialities.

Opening bloodshot eyes, Doyle saw Bodie alive, unharmed, standing in front of him and smiling for the first time in three days. Bodie's eyes seemed very blue. "No," he agreed, taking care over his enunciation, "not far."

"You look knackered. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and lying down. Then you can tell me what happened to you. I'll give you a hand, shall I?" Bodie made the offer tentatively. Suggestions of help when it was obviously needed were not usually well-received.

Fumbling with his jacket, which he was having trouble removing, Doyle gave a dispirited nod.

His mouth quirking in a wry grin, Bodie shook his head. "It'll be quicker to let me do it." Taking Doyle's silence of acquiescence, he took charge with his usual efficiency.

Removing the jacket was easy enough, Bodie careful not to tug or jar as he slid the second sleeve free. His hands covered in mud, he dropped the jacket to the floor. Eyeing the disgusting state of the sweater, he wondered if Doyle had been wallowing in mud rather than simply falling into it. Becoming aware of the effort the other man was making to stay on his feet, he edged closer, tapping Doyle gently on a dirty cheek to get his attention.

"You'll be sliding to the floor if you're not careful. Use me as a prop," he coaxed, a hand in the small of Doyle's back encouraging him to lean forward. "That's the way. I've got more chance of catching you now. While I might look fit for anything I don't fancy having to scoop you off the floor just yet."

Supporting Doyle's weight with his own body, planning to remove the sweater in one movement rather than several, Bodie raised Doyle's right arm. The choked-off scream was muffled against his shoulder. Bodie froze, feeling the jolt of agony which racked Doyle as if it was his own.

"Dear god, Ray. What - ?"

The weight slumped against him seemed so slight that it was a moment before Bodie realised that Doyle had fainted. For a split second he was afraid to do anything before common sense prevailed and he took Doyle's pulse. If Ray was badly injured he would have said something. He wasn't stupid and neither of them went in for heroics. But something was hurting him. Frowning, Bodie relaxed when he realised Doyle's colour was too good for internal bleeding. So was his pulse. From the acuteness of the pain, he'd probably cracked a rib or two. Painful but not fatal, Bodie told himself, aiming for optimism because the alternative was the thought of Ray in urgent need of medical care while they were stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Measuring the distance from the doorway to the bed, Bodie gave an inward sigh, took a deep breath and set about getting Doyle on the mattress before he regained consciousness. By the time he had deposited Doyle on the bed in a graceless sprawl Bodie was forced to slump next to him to catch his breath, every muscle shaking with reaction. Realising the duvet was getting wet from Doyle's sodden clothing, he eased it out from under Doyle, they would need it later.

The first priority was to get Doyle out of his wet clothes and there were easier ways than hauling them off. Disappearing into the kitchen, Bodie could only find a rusting pair of scissors. A wry look on his face, he finally returned upstairs with the knife he had originally selected to defend himself with and the paraphernalia needed to clean Doyle.

The mud-clogged trainers were no problem, the lack of socks offering further evidence of Doyle's state if the discomfort of going without them was outweighed by the effort of putting them on. Bodie sighed as he looked at Doyle's jeans. Ray always favoured a close-fit, this pair were so tight they looked as if he had used a shoe horn to ease into them. Unfastening the stud at the waistband, Bodie slid down the zip, his breath hissing inwards when he saw the extensive bruising. Picking up the knife, he stared glumly at the wet denim and went to work. Starting at a narrow-legged ankle, he had severed the material almost to mid thigh, concentrating on slicing uncooperative denim instead of Doyle, when he glanced up to find wide, grave eyes watching him with no more than a faint question.

Bodie gave Doyle a pat of reassurance. "You carry on lying there nice and still. I'll be careful."

"I wasn't planning on moving," Doyle confirmed. His careering mind was wonderfully concentrated by his awareness of Bodie's knuckles brushing his groin, and the chill press of dull-edged metal on his upper thigh.

"I couldn't think of an easier way to get them off," Bodie explained, in case his disorientated partner should be worrying about what he was doing.

If he was, Doyle gave no sign of it, even when the blade reached the jut of his hipbone and almost slipped.

"Bloody denim. I'll replace these," Bodie promised without looking up from his task. "I can get a nice pair down the market for a fiver," he added, knowing Doyle's disdain for cheap jeans. While Doyle's wardrobe didn’t favour the tailored look, he knew exactly what suited him and had expensive tastes, which he indulged as a matter of course.

"Cheap bastard," muttered Doyle, his ghost of a grin telling Bodie that things were on their way back to normal.

The second leg dealt with and the waist band sawn through, Bodie dragged away the clammy denim and tucked the duvet around Doyle's lower body. Concentrating on cutting through the bulk of Doyle's sweater, Bodie's facial muscles were rigid with the wave of fury which had swept over him when he saw the extent of the bruising on Doyle's genitals, courtesy of Davis' boot. For a moment he was too angry to speak.

Mistaking Bodie's reaction for suppressed revulsion, Doyle touched him on the hand. "I can see to the rest now, thanks."

Bodie spared him a withering look. "Don't be daft. Besides, I've nearly finished."

Realising that subtlety would be wasted but in no state to choose his words with the care he would have liked, Doyle blurted out, "Better for you to stop now than have you throw up over me."

"Why should I do that?" asked Bodie with blank incomprehension.

His face averted, Doyle was staring at the open door. "That first night after Davis... You had a nightmare. I forgot to do up my dressing gown when I came over to you. I saw your expression. It's all right. I can understand why you feel like that at the moment. You don't need to pretend with me."

The need to reassure Doyle came a long way ahead of his reluctance to talk about that time. "Ray? Listen to me, sunshine." Bodie took a careful hold of Doyle's jaw and turned his head, his own expression softening when he saw the misery in the depths of the green eyes. "That night - for the last few nights, come to that - I've been a little crazy, hating everyone, myself included. I was shocked and doped. I can't remember what I said or did that night but I can promise you this much, there isn't a thing you could do that could disgust me. Except for the way you slurp your tea, of course."

Staring at him, large-eyed and unblinking, Doyle neither moved nor spoke.

Giving a shaky smile, Bodie drew the duvet away and lightly ran the palm of his hand over the least bruised portion of Doyle's torso. "I'm not going to pretend these washboard ribs of yours are much of a turn-on for me, but as bodies go, yours will do. I know what you thought. Forget it, mate. There isn't anything about you that reminds me of Davis, or that gives me the horrors."

Tucking the duvet back around Doyle, Bodie slipped the almost severed sweater over Doyle's head to give him a chance to recover his composure.

"You silly sod," he chided softly. "As if. But I've given you a rough time. I'm sorry." Giving Doyle no time to reply, he added quickly, "I want to check you over. Find the extent of the damage."

Limp with relief, Doyle stared into the concerned face leaning over him. Bodie's expression was so familiar that he had to grin. "It's only cracked ribs." He was shivering and twitching, every muscle tense as he was consumed by his inability to relax his hyper-charged system. Although his speech was sloppy and slightly slurred, his brain was a confusion of racing thoughts. Unable to quieten, he was trapped on an ever-lasting treadmill.

"You won't mind if I check on that for myself?" Bodie studied the vast expanses of livid bruising with appalled disbelief. His touch deft and as careful as he knew how to make it, his mouth tightened each time Doyle flinched. As he gently probed the purple flesh of Doyle's right side, the other man gasped and involuntarily tried to escape. Curling away from the pain, he only succeeded in making it worse.

"Ray! Lie still! It's all right. I've stopped. I didn't mean to hurt you."

His breath still shuddering, Doyle uncurled and wiped a hand over his face, inadvertently redistributing the mud, to give Bodie a glare of exasperation. "You silly, sod, d’you think I need to be told that." He broke off to yawn hugely. "I'll be all right once the tablets start to work."

Bodie's head came up like a pointer scenting game as he connected the too bright eyes and dilated pupils with the difference in Doyle which had been bothering him since Doyle's return to the cottage.

"What tablets are they, Ray? What tablets?" he repeated more urgently.

Doyle opened his closing eyes to wave a dismissive hand. "There's no need to shout. I'm not deaf, you know. It's just some speed I took. To keep me going."

Bodie did not need to be told why. Guilt and worry governed his response. "You irresponsible bloody maniac! Where are they"

"Why, you want some?" enquired Doyle, interested.

Exasperated, Bodie went through the pockets of Doyle's discarded jacket. He found nothing. "OK, sunshine. Where are they? The tablets," he prompted with unusual patience as it began to dawn on him that Ray Doyle, ex-Detective Constable and scourge of pushers everywhere, was stoned out of his skull.

"Pocket of my jeans," said Doyle sleepily, untroubled by Bodie's scowl.

Drawing out the phial, Bodie opened it. The small octagonal pills he shook into his palm meant nothing to him. The expert on drugs lay flat on his back, high as the proverbial kite.

"Ray, are you sure these aren't addictive? Ray?"

"I heard you," said Doyle testily. "I'm positive. They wouldn't hurt a fly. I won't take any more though. Feel a bit odd, if you must know."

Bodie received that somewhat pathetic admission with scant sympathy. "I'm not bloody well surprised. How many of these have you knocked back, and when did you take the last lot?"

Doyle concentrated, briefly. "When I got back. It's all right. I'll be fine when I've ‘ad some...sleep."

Before Bodie could recover his breath to shatter that piece of optimism he realised that Doyle was indeed asleep. Bodie shook hi head as he surveyed the wreck of his partner. To start with he needed hot water, and plenty of it. From the look of him, Ray would sleep through being cleaned up.

To Bodie's relief, Doyle _did_ sleep through being washed and dried and tucked in warm bedding, although his own hands were shaking by the time he had finished. The marks on his own body were ugly, and still tender but they faded into insignificance when he saw the results of Doyle's fight with Davis. While Bodie had seen people beaten up before and had experienced it himself, he had never been able to stand seeing Doyle hurt - least of all in defence of himself.

 

Drowsy and more comfortable than he had felt for days, Doyle drifted with the gentle touch of Bodie's hands against his body. Watching the dark sweep of the impossibly long eyelashes and the severe set of the usually mobile mouth, the fog in Doyle's brain was swept aside.

The realisation should have been shocking, it would have been but for the fact that with it came the knowledge it was something he had successfully hidden from himself, as well as everyone else. Incredulous, Doyle stared at Bodie, an explanation of his own behaviour of recent weeks becoming unnecessary.

What a time to realise you were in love with your partner. Worse, that you wanted them with an intensity that went heart deep.

All this time.

Doyle thought about the way his social life had slid to a halt, his sex life non-existent for a while, although he had chosen not to examine why. He didn't want to think about those times when, on the brink of climax, it was Bodie's face he had seen. Or the nights he'd spent in the bed of a stranger, lying awake while she slept, thinking of who he wanted to be with.

Always possessed of a healthy curiosity, Doyle had wondered about his partner, as Bodie had obviously wondered about him. It was all part of the competitiveness which still existed between them. When that had changed so that all he wanted was all that smooth, sure power for himself, to feel the always so capable hands on himself, Doyle didn't know. He had wondered what it would be like to make it with Bodie, of course. Idly.

Like hell.

Doyle took a deep breath, the realisation that he could never let Bodie guess steadying him faster than anything else could have done. Drowsiness banished, he took in the bruises vivid on Bodie's face and the shadows under his eyes.

That bastard Davis.

Don't wallow in it, Doyle told himself as he struggled to contain every careering thought. He was just coherent enough to know that in his present state he was capable of blurting out this long-repressed knowledge the first time he opened his mouth. He couldn't bear to contemplate what damage that might do. Bodie hadn't been broken by Davis, thank god.

Please God.

Refocusing, Doyle found that he was under surveillance. "I feel better," he mumbled, hoping to hide behind the effects of the speed for the remainder of the night. It would give him a chance to get his act together until it was so convincing that it wasn't an act.

"I'm glad to hear it, even if I don't believe it." Bodie's grin faded. "Why didn't you tell me the state Davis had left you...?" The question faded away. He knew why Doyle had kept quiet - to protect him. The warmth which came with the realisation overrode his guilt. Besides, he wouldn't have been able to cope with the knowledge that Ray was hurt. Not then. The admission didn't come easily to Bodie, but he was able to make it now, even to say it aloud.

"Thanks, mate. I couldn't have handled it before."

Doyle wrinkled his nose in dismissal. "You would have. I've missed you these last few days."

"I've missed you, too," Bodie admitted, relaxing. "Listen, before you fall asleep, I reckon you should try to eat something. And the bed is a mess. Can you make it into the other room if I give you a hand?"

"Just so long as there's no rush with the stairs." Doyle eased himself into a sitting position with caution and wiped his clammy face.

"Why do you want to go downstairs?"

Sitting on the edge of the mattress by now, Doyle gave him a patient look. "To sleep."

"What's wrong with sharing my bed? It's big enough." Then Bodie drew Doyle to his feet and all conversation came to a halt.

Doyle was only too happy to let the subject drop. If Bodie couldn't foresee any problems sharing a bed with him, he wasn't about to bring the subject into the open but he braced himself for rejection, knowing reaction could overtake Bodie at any time. The whole purpose of a double bed was sharing. Bodie wouldn't have thought about it from that angle.

"So what's wrong with my bed then?" Bodie prompted as they entered the hall.

"Absolutely nothing," Doyle told him belatedly. "And the sooner we get there the better."

Bodie did not have the breath to spare to laugh. By the time they reached his bedroom it was difficult to tell who was supporting whom.

"Cowley's finest," announced Doyle ironically as he settled on the bed with unconcealed relief. The warmth of the duvet was doing little to stop the shivers rippling through him.

"I dunno about that," said Bodie severely, more worried than he cared to admit about Doyle's condition, "but he's going to do his nut when he finds out you've been pill-popping."

Trying hard to concentrate, Doyle stared up at him. "Are you going to tell him?"

After a short pause, Bodie nodded, his expression grim. "Everything. From abduction, through rape to recovery. It's the only way." He saw the change in Doyle's expression without appreciating what lay behind it. "We have to tell him, Ray." His own decision had been made. If he kept quiet, as every instinct screamed for him to do, then Davis had won. And Bodie wasn't about to let that happen because Davis wasn't important enough when compared to everything he could lose. Not the least of which was his own self-respect.

Doyle inched his way up to the vertical. "Can you handle it?"

Knowing what he was being asked with the oblique question, Bodie sank on to the side of the mattress next to him and nodded again. "Yeah," he said slowly. "It'll take a while yet but I'll be OK." As he spoke, the truth of it sank home. He would be all right. An oppressive weight slid from his shoulders and he gave a small but genuine smile. "Really," he assured the man watching him.

Doyle studied him for a moment, then offered a rare, blinding smile of his own. "We'll tell him everything then," he agreed.

Bodie turned the central heating up as high as it would go, coaxed hot soup into his unenthusiastic partner and pulled the spare duvet on to Doyle's side of the bed but could think of nothing else that might warm him. Barely visible beneath the covers, Doyle was still shivering like a man with the ague.

"You need a doctor," Bodie said, his belligerent tone a poor disguise for his anxiety.

"No way," dismissed Doyle, who was on the edge of sleep. "I'm just over-tired, that's all. And I got cold. I'll be fine by morning."

"You look terrible," Bodie told him frankly.

His manner was so exquisitely normal that Doyle wondered if the last three days had really happened until, shrugging out of his shirt, Bodie bit off an exclamation. Some of the marks on his back had reopened.

"Says who?" parried Doyle, flattening any hint of sympathy out of his voice. "Stop hovering and come to bed," he added briskly, watching Bodie like a hawk for any sign of reluctance.

"In a minute. Some of us have to tend to a few personal details for ourselves," Bodie reminded him as he headed off to the bathroom.

When he reappeared, smelling strongly of tooth-paste, he slid under the duvet without any hesitation. He stretched out, only to arch up with a sound of protest when his sore back met the starched cotton of the sheet.

"I'll see to your back for you tomorrow," said Doyle.

For all his drowsiness there was a note in his voice that made Bodie agree with an unusual degree of meekness. Moving to try and find a position of comfort proved to be a mistake.

"Bugger." Abandoning stoicism, Bodie abruptly rolled on to his belly. The movement jarred Doyle, who had not been expecting it.

A few painful seconds later Bodie gave a rueful chuckle. "We make a great pair, don't we," he said ruefully. He shot his companion a glance, feeling curiously content despite his physical discomfort.

Doyle grunted something that might have been an assent.

Bodie yelped with surprise when an icy foot brushed his calf, before it flinched away. "Strewth, Ray. Your feet are like ice. You must have a temperature." In the darkness he could see only the gleam of Doyle's eyes.

"Probably. I didn't get it on purpose," Doyle added in a conciliatory tone.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Bodie told him, unimpressed. Edging closer, he offered the warmth of his own body without a thought.

Doyle tensed.

"It's all right," Bodie mumbled into his ear. "I haven't forgotten those cracked ribs of yours. Come on, cuddle up. The quicker you get warm, the quicker we both get some rest. I'm knackered."

And it was all so normal and matter of fact and Bodie was so warm that Doyle found himself ridiculously torn between tears and laughter, asleep before either could gain the upper hand.

 

On the few occasions they had shared a bed Bodie had never found Doyle to be the most comfortable of companions. Doyle was given to spreading himself while he slept, he claimed it was the sign of a generous nature, while Bodie averred it was no more than a greedy determination for more than his share of the bedding. As the night progressed Bodie began to realise how lucky he had been in the past.

The stimulants in Doyle's bloodstream had done their job well, permitting him to do little more than snatch short, exhausted bursts of sleep before he woke, twitching. Each time it happened Doyle tried to stay still, not wanting to disturb the soft-breathing mound next to him. Then cramp would set in along stiffened muscles and he couldn't help but move, waking Bodie.

"S-sorry," Doyle stuttered some time during the early hours of the morning. It was his fourth apology so far.

"Stop apologising and try to relax," said Bodie in exasperation. Becoming aware of the burning heat of the dry skin pressing against him, he was instantly wide awake.

The bedding rustled as Doyle moved farther away. "This was a great idea but it isn't going to work, I'll keep you awake all night at this rate. I'll use the bed next door."

It was then that Bodie realised he did not want Doyle to leave, no matter how demanding a bedmate he might prove to be. Comforting wasn't a word he had ever associated with Doyle before.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said quietly, into the darkness.

There was another rustle as Doyle's head turned in an attempt to read his expression. "Why? You can't tell me you're comfortable while I'm doing the St Vitus Dance next to you."

"I might not dream with you next to me," said Bodie in a barely audible voice.

Doyle tucked an arm over him and gave him a quick, fierce hug. "Or only of ways to stitch me up," he said gruffly.

After a few uncomfortable seconds he managed to turn onto his relatively good side. Curved along the length of Bodie's back, warmth seeping into him, Doyle lay staring out into the darkness while Bodie fell asleep in his arms. Although neither of them managed to do more than doze, at no point during their disturbed night did Doyle make another reference to separate sleeping arrangements.

oOo

Woken by incoherent mumbles in his ear, it took Bodie a moment to place his surroundings. He knew instantly who it was curled octopus-like around him an oddly-relaxed sprawl of limbs. As if sensing Bodie's restiveness, Doyle started into wakefulness.

"It's all right," Bodie soothed, rubbing comfortingly up and down the arm nearest to him. "It's all right. Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

Doyle ignored the exhortation and slid away with a mumbled apology. "Did I wake you up again?" he asked wearily.

"Mmn. It doesn't matter. Are your ribs playing you up again?"

"No. Why?"

"Then come back here. You've only just warmed up enough to stop shivering. Anyone would think I was going to - " Seeing the trap ahead just in time, Bodie stopped dead.

" - rape me?" completed Doyle with muzzy unconcern, clearly unaware of what he was saying. "It's all right. You wouldn't. Anyway, you can do whatever you want with me. Anything," he mumbled into Bodie's neck.

It was at that point that Bodie realized that Doyle, despite appearances to the contrary, had never been more than half-awake. That stupid, throwaway reference had never been funny. Before his leaden remembrance could take hold it, was melted away by Doyle's absolute and unquestioning trust in him.

Ray had always been an affectionate drunk, Bodie remembered ruefully. Prone to throwing an arm around him in public and mumbling a lot of incoherent confidences too inaudible to make useful blackmail material.

"You," he whispered to an unruly head of hair, "are stoned."

"Quite probably." Doyle tucked himself even tighter around his living hot water bottle, only then certain that Bodie was safe. But even in this state he avoided putting pressure on the worst of Bodie's injuries. "Still love you though," he confided. Unselfconscious as a toddler, he nuzzled Bodie's collar bone, kissed his throat and fell back to sleep with his mouth still brushing Bodie's skin.

The unpleasant matted tangle of Doyle's hair beneath his chin, his arms full of bony maleness, Bodie lay staring out into the room, watching the black turn to grey. He must have been dreaming after all. Though why he should want to dream that Ray loved - fancied - him was a puzzled he was too sleepy and comfortable to be bothered to pursue.

He fell asleep himself before he had a chance to recognise his own untroubled response to everything Doyle's declaration entailed, whether he had imagined it or not.

oOo

 

Deciding that the activities of the day would be dictated by Doyle's physical state, there seemed to be little point in rushing to greet the morning, Bodie already pessimistically convinced it would be raining. Encouraged by his full bladder he was eventually forced to slide from under the covers, taking care not to disturb the exhausted sprawl that was Ray Doyle. The poor bugger looked wiped out, he thought sympathetically, pausing to watch the close-lidded face that was tense even in the sleep of utter exhaustion.

You get as much of that as you can, he silently advised the sleeping man as he bent to draw the covers higher over Doyle's shoulders. If last night was anything to go by this present deep sleep would not be of long duration.

Going off to shower and shave Bodie noticed that it had stopped raining at last. Giving the bleak, rain-sodden landscape a fleeting look of dislike, he was whistling by the time he went downstairs. It was odd to have so much free time on his hands. Of course it was typical that there was virtually nothing to do, that Ray was zonked out of his head and they stuck in the middle of nowhere with only eight paperbacks and an ancient pack of playing cards for company.

Only sorry that Doyle was not awake to appreciate the novelty, Bodie took considerable trouble over the breakfast he prepared, eating the result of his labours with relish. He felt a vague gratitude to whoever had stocked the cupboards and freezer. They had made a thorough job of it, there was more than enough food to last them for the rest of the week.

Just as well, he admitted to himself, because it was almost certain that he and Doyle were going to be here until that taxi Cooper had ordered arrived. Until he was certain Ray had taken no lasting harm from his foray into drug abuse, he had no intention of leaving Doyle in the cottage alone. Not until he knew those bloody pills were out of Doyle's system.

It had been a right bollocks up from start to finish, he conceded sourly.

In some ways the worst was yet to come. The inevitable publicity when Angetti came up for trial, the gossip and innuendo within CI5 - the outside world didn't matter so much. There wasn't anyone he cared about outside. But he could see no way of avoiding it.

The grim lines on his face eased into a reluctant grin when he heard the gentle stream of invective issuing from the bedroom, indicating that Doyle was awake.

Tossing the damp tea towel to one side, Bodie made two mugs of tea. Strolling into the bedroom with them a few minutes later he gave the pathetic figure struggling to sit up a sympathetic grin.

"You,"he announced cheerfully, "look terrible."

Every muscle stiff as a board and his head pounding, Doyle gave him a slit-eyed glare which faded into wry acknowledgement. "Thanks," he croaked weakly.

Automatically sinking down next to the hollow-eyed apparition Bodie shook his head. "I dunno. Here, get this inside you."

"Mmm, thanks," Doyle repeated, this time with real gratitude. But the hands he curved around the steaming mug shook so badly that Bodie took it away again.

"I think I better hold this for you. Mind, it's hot. See? I told you so. Strewth, you look as if you've got the DT's." He sounded no more than exasperated.

Dehydrated and with his skin crawling with tension, Doyle wished he was dead. "It feels like it," he mumbled, sipping again from the mug being held for him. He was too thirsty and depressed to bother arguing about his ability to perform the simple task for himself.

"C'mon, give us your wrist," Bodie ordered, removing the mug.

Glowering, Doyle permitted his pulse to be taken only with an ill-grace.

"Hmn," said Bodie, frowning.

Doyle subjected Bodie's studious face to an irritated glare. "Stop pretending you know what the hell you're doing. And say _I told you so_ one more time and I swear I'll bloody thump you myself." He sank back against the pillows, absurdly weakened by that spurt of ill-temper. His head feeling as if it was being levered apart, depression washed over him.

"'Course you will, soon as you've finished your drink," Bodie agreed with an aggravating calm. Untroubled by the reappearance of the Ray Doyle he knew best, he took it as a welcome sign that the status quo was in a fair way to being restored because it was what he wanted to believe. He held the mug until he was sure it was empty enough for Doyle to take control without spilling the contents over the bed, then passed the mug to him. It was impossible not to be aware of Doyle's poor coordination, or how long it took him to drink the tea, his lashes wavering with the concentration involved.

"You silly sod," he said softly. His expression one of wry affection he used the back of his hand to brush away the lank, sticky curls that clung to the damp forehead. "Maybe this will teach you not to go round popping illegal substances in your old age."

When Doyle simply nodded a dispirited agreement Bodie gained new insight into how appalling he must be feeling. Frowning at the subdued, downbent face he also realised that now would not be a tactful moment to point out that Doyle was likely to feel worse before he felt better. A soup of stimulants and painkillers... Even leaving them aside, neither of them had been thinking very coherently over the past few days.

"I dunno about you," he continued quietly a few minutes later, serious now, "but I'll be glad when this week is over. I never was much of a one for playing doctors and nurses, never mind being the patient. Thanks for looking after me," he added awkwardly.

There was a short, disconcerted silence while Doyle stared at the sombre face watching him. Then his too brilliant eyes filled and overspilled, a solitary tear escaping before he scrunched his eyes shut. Aghast at what was happening to him, he discovered he could do nothing to control or stop it.

"Oh, bugger it," he whispered with bitter helplessness, averting his face before his humiliation was complete.

The bed creaked as Bodie moved closer.

"Hey, come on, sunshine. No need to panic. It's only those bloody pills," he reassured. A little clumsy at first, he rubbed a tense forearm, half-expecting to be rebuffed. "Best to let it out. Don't fight it. It's only me here."

His unquestioning acceptance completed what drugs and exhaustion had begun.

With a soft incoherent choke, moisture already seeping from beneath his closed eyelids, Doyle's set face crumpled and he turned his face into the pillow. Without thought Bodie leant forward and gathered Doyle to him. Smoothing a naked shoulder blade and the nape of the bowed neck he felt some of the tension there begin to ease. By imperceptible degrees the weight against him increased, Doyle falling into an exhausted doze, his damp face buried in the hollow of Bodie's shoulder. His ragged breathing sent goosebumps down Bodie's spine.

Enfolding the sleeping man in his own warmth Bodie knew a confusing amalgam of emotions, slow to recognise the tenderness in himself. There had been little enough scope for it in his past life and it was a dangerous softness he had no wish to encourage. For all that, he made no effort to draw away. What the hell was he supposed to do when Ray needed some comfort, turn his back on him?

Resigned, he gave the matted curls a helpless look as his fingers unconsciously smoothed over too warm skin. It gave him an odd pang to see Ray, who was normally so assured, spiky and inclined to over-confidence, left without defence, reduced by drug-induced weakness to this.

A slow, deep anger stirred in him towards those who had been responsible for bringing Doyle to this state. Bugger any embarrassment the publicity of the trial would bring, he thought with sudden savagery. He wanted Angetti to be made to pay, not just because of what the cold bastard had allowed to be done to him, or even to Ray; he wanted Angetti bought to book for knowingly employing a psychopath and for cynically feeding Davis' sick pleasures to suit his own purposes. His eyes bleak, Bodie remembered what Davis had gloatingly told him, his voice thick with excitement, of a young houseboy, an illegal immigrant, expendable and expended. For his sake too, poor, unmourned bastard. Without men like Angetti and the shelter their money could provide, someone like Davis would have little scope and no protection from the law.

With a sudden wry grin Bodie gave the back of Doyle's head a rueful look. He'd turn into as big a bleeding heart as Ray if he wasn't careful. Too many years of listening to Ray Doyle laying it on the line. Stupid that knowing the lengths Ray had gone to protect him should have shaken him so much because there never had been any half-measures about Ray. That was his trouble. For all his caustic tongue and sour manner he was all-too-inclined to take the worries of the world on his back.

No need to take on mine as well, sunshine. They were too close, too involved. And it was far too late to pretend otherwise. The knowledge made him afraid. "Still, I could have done worse than get lumbered with you," he added under his breath, knowing he wouldn't change a thing.

Stirring on an uneven inhalation, Doyle shuddered awake, pulling away the moment he realised where he was and who it was holding him.

"Nothing to worry about, mate. It was only me talking to myself," reassured Bodie, made self-conscious by the speed of Doyle's withdrawal. He shifted a little, covering his retreat by flexing his stiffened spine and then having a cautious stretch. "How are you feeling?" he added, giving Doyle a shrewdly assessing look.

"I'll survive so you can drop the Dr Kildare routine. It doesn't go with your image at all."

Taken aback by the contemptuous bite in the soft voice, Bodie left the bed, pulled on the towelling robe and picked up the two empty mugs. "You're probably right," he agreed, his face and voice both a careful neutral. "But I didn't think you and me bothered with crap like that - not with each other." This was Doyle at his worst, using a cold malice that could slide between any defences you tried to erect. In this mood Ray was capable of saying anything - and meaning it. "Is there anything you want?" he added, wanting to get out of the room before the scene could escalate into something ugly.

"No. Thanks." The latter was such an obvious afterthought that Bodie whipped around, his face alive with anger.

"Oh, think nothing of it, _mate_. Listen to me. Stupid thing to say that, because you never do, do you?" He left before he could say anything else, thundering down the stairs and into the kitchen, the door banging to a close behind him.

Bugger Doyle anyway, he thought with fury, chipping a mug with the force with which he deposited it in the sink. Except that it was me who was buggered, he remembered abruptly, almost with surprise. Davis seemed a very long time ago, curiously unimportant. What was important was here and now, getting Doyle back on his feet and both of them back to London and picking up the pieces, so they could resume the old effortless rapport forged over the years.

Bodie sighed as he stared out of the window and reluctantly conceded that it wasn't going to be quite that simple. He had no choice but to admit the changes that had taken place; there were too many breaches in the barriers for them all to be patched over. It was impossible to ignore the new discoveries that had been made. Something, indefinable as yet, had changed in their partnership and he did not know what, if any, difference it would make, wanting there to be none. Ray had revealed his commitment to be on a level beyond any demands imposed on them by their chosen job. Now he was backing away fast and who could blame him? Stupid to feel closed out.

Get involved with someone and you lost all independence, Bodie reminded himself, sourly remembering his smug declaration all those years ago: _look after number one_. What a waste of breath that had been, his independence fettered within a week of being partnered with Ray Doyle. No choice but to acknowledge that now.

A sound broke his train of thought and as the kitchen door creaked open, he wheeled around, reaching for the gun he no longer carried. "What the hell are you doing down here?" he demanded, his voice harsh with momentary shock. He was already halfway across the room.

"I wanted to talk to you," said Doyle. His breathing still laboured from his assault on the stairs, he was gripping the door frame for support. "I behaved like a prat just now."

"So what's new? Oops. Hang on, sunshine. Have a sit down before we get you back upstairs."

Deposited on a sturdy kitchen chair, his elbows propped on the table, Doyle dug the heels of his shaking hands into his eyes. "Stupid to be embarrassed with you, even when I am bawling my eyes out," he muttered.

"Listen, I told you, it's - "

" - just those bloody pills. Yeah, I know. But that's no reason to take it out on you." Doyle refused to look up. The temptation to reach out was almost irresistible as it was, particularly as he knew he would get away with it now. No, he corrected himself tiredly, at any time. Bodie always had let him get away with murder. "Will you do me a favour?" he added, his voice muffled by his hands. He was too conscious of the warmth of Bodie's thigh brushing against his own, hurtfully aware of every tiny detail in Bodie's appearance, things hitherto taken for granted.

"I expect so." Anything you want, Bodie added with silent resignation, left with no choice but to admit his one vulnerable spot. He realised he might just as well have bellowed the truth to the four winds when Doyle looked up, holding his gaze with a disconcerting lucidity.

"And you would too, wouldn't you." It was posed as a wry statement of fact rather than a question. A long forefinger traced an absent design on the stained pine table top, Doyle's eyes fixed on the wavering abstract he was creating.

"Probably," conceded Bodie, smiling to himself. "There's no need to go broody on me though, this is only Newton's Law coming into play," he told the bent head, wary of what embarrassing thing Doyle might say next. "And you, my son, were high as a kite, if without any of the pleasure."

"Leaving Angetti out of the equation, a lot's changed in this last week, hasn't it?" Doyle continued, by way of a non sequitur.

It was a moment before Bodie would believe the evidence of his own ears. This was one of Ray's main faults, he conceded, stifling a sigh. He would drift blithely on for months and then suddenly worry to death something hitherto taken for granted. But sliding into a chair next to him, Bodie did not pretend he had misunderstood, more, he met Doyle halfway.

"Not so much changed as come out into the open," he said with caution. "It's no big deal, we've been mates for so long it should have dawned on us a long time ago. It doesn't happen over night, you know. Why, does it bother you?"

Startled eyes shot wide open before Doyle relaxed, realising that he and Bodie were talking at cross purposes. "No, it came as a surprise, that's all," he said, as casually as he could to disguise his panicked over-reaction. "I dunno why it should. I wasn't sure how you'd take the news either. It's not something we talk about usually. I always knew you meant a lot to me, I just had it brought home to me how much," he added with perfect truth. Because he didn't trust himself, he spent a lot of time choosing his words with care. "I can't pretend it will make the job any easier but I don't see why it should make that much difference. I've always been keen on protecting my assets."

Listening to that unemotional statement of fact Bodie had the sudden disconcerting feeling that he was missing something, something important. "So I'm one of your assets, am I?" he said lightly.

Gazing at his now loosely clasped hands as if he had never seen them before Doyle gave an involuntary smile. "Yeah. You are." He looked up. "Listen, about that favour, it's no big deal so you can save conquering the world until tomorrow. I feel bloody awful, which never brings out the best in me. So ignore anything I say, will you?"

"Like what?" asked Bodie, puzzled. "If I took the hump every time we snapped at each other - "

"Oh, for - " Doyle took a steadying breath. It was stupid to be angry, pierced by Bodie's lack of comprehension. That was the least of his worries, he was terrified in case he blurted out his new-found discovery and swamped Bodie with newly-admitted needs that could undo the healing process so precariously begun. It was no comfort to realise that Bodie's mental recovery would have been farther advanced if he had collapsed thirty-six hours earlier and given Bodie something to take his mind off being... Raped.

The homely aura of the kitchen and Bodie's relaxed sprawl next to him were overset, destroyed by stark images which refused to be banished

Doyle lurched to his feet, reaching the sink just in time. He painfully lost the mug of tea he had drunk earlier. It was only when the last spasm was over that he realised someone stood beside him, unobtrusively supporting him. The cold tap gushed on, a towel appearing next to his cramped hand.

"We may as well chuck these mugs away, I'd just chipped a lump out of one of them anyway," said Bodie, prosaically drying Doyle's damp face for him. "Your guts settled down now? All right, then let's get you back to bed before you flake out on me. Not pregnant are you?"

The black humour was unforced, effortless, all part of the normality they had constructed for themselves; an easy outlet, a means of surviving the demands of their jobs.

Leaning back against the sink, his head spinning, Doyle made the necessary effort to respond. "Pregnant? Nah," he said with husky assurance, "I've been taking these pills haven't I?"

 

As the day progressed Bodie watched Doyle's condition deteriorate, his temperature rising as he sank into intermittent, troubled sleep.

When Doyle started awake, twitching and disorientated, he said little but it was noticeable that he relaxed on finding Bodie in the room. Little by little his periods of sleep lengthened, calming as the fragmented dreams grew less nightmarish.

 

oOo

Doyle woke in slow stages, blinked and smiled to himself when he saw Bodie lying on top of the bed next to him, reading by the light of the bedside lamp, a look of intense disgust on his face. More clear-headed on this occasion, he was content to watch Bodie in a drowsy silence. Careful to make no betraying movement which might alert Bodie to his wakeful state, he tried to imprint every small physical detail in his brain, storing them away as if this was the last time he would see them - in quite this way.

Accustomed to making a swift sexual appraisal of a potential partner's willingness to come across, in Bodie's case that was a non-starter. And with that out of the way Doyle discovered his greatest pleasure came from previously unconsidered sources. He had taken Bodie's dark good looks for granted years ago but now he was caught by small details; the way his hair curled behind a neat-set ear; the sweep of his eyelashes and the laughter lines at the corners of the eyes; the line of his nose; the clean, strong line of hip and raised thigh; the even rise and fall of the broad chest, so very different from a woman's rounded softness.

No comparison at all, in fact, Doyle thought, amused that he should have even thought of it. But it was Bodie he wanted. His emotions engaged as they had never been before, to the point where it scared him. He had never had much patience for inchoate longings, now look at him, all a-quiver with lust. And there was nothing remotely funny about it.

Without warning Bodie looked up, catching and holding his gaze. Willing himself not to flush Doyle returned his smile, certain his naked longing was being screamed aloud.

"Evening," remarked Bodie, unabashed at finding himself under a large-eyed microscope. "I was starting to wonder if you'd got sleeping sickness. How are you - ?" Before he could complete the sentence his resigned companion thrust out a limp wrist, dangling it in front of his nose.

"Thank you, sweetie," cooed Bodie. Ignoring Doyle's pained expression he took his pulse and temperature. "And don't go biting the end of this," he warned.

The thermometer waggled suggestively.

"You too, mate. No patience, that's your trouble. You must be feeling better," Bodie added, concealing his inner doubts as he tucked Doyle's arm back under the bed covers. Eventually he allowed the thermometer to be spat out, his face expressionless as he glanced at it. "Think you could eat anything now?" His eyebrows rose as Doyle's stomach chose that moment to growl very loudly. "Does that mean yes?"

"I suppose it must do," conceded Doyle sleepily. "I could murder a cup of tea."

"How about some food to go with it?"

"Great," Doyle nodded, taking the line of least resistance.

 

By the time Bodie came back into the room, Doyle had recovered from his marathon trek to the bathroom and back and was flicking through the paperback Bodie had been reading. He dropped it at the side of the bed as the intrepid hero despatched ten heavies in as many pages.

"I don't think much of your choice of reading material," he said with disapproval, jerking a contemptuous thumb at the discarded book.

"I'm not surprised, but it's that or nothing. I've finished all the others. The best bits so far have been spotting the mess the proof-reader made of it, although they improved it no end. Put your knees down, we don't want this lot going all over the bed, do we?"

Pulling a sour face at Bodie's tone of sweet reason, Doyle did as he was told in obedient silence, then stared from the plates heaped with food to Bodie and back again.

Unruffled, Bodie grinned at him. "You may be hungrier than you think," he said placidly. Drawing the armchair up to the side of the bed, he propped his feet next to Doyle's thighs, his bare toes approximately two inches from the toast.

Doyle gave them a gentle push, moving them an inch or so, just to make his point, before studying the quantity of food. "Your trouble is that once you get started you don't know when to stop," he told Bodie, but he started to eat the scrambled eggs with alacrity.

"That's what everyone tells me. But they don't usually complain about it," added Bodie, looking and sounding unbearably smug. He gave a yelp when the fork detoured to jab at his tender instep, Doyle fastidiously wiping the prongs on the sheet before resuming his interrupted meal.

"Charming." Bodie inspected the damage area with an air of resignation.

After a few mouthfuls Doyle's intake was already slowing down. He gave his reloaded fork a pensive look. "These always remind me of Towser somehow."

Bodie shuddered before leaning forward to help himself to a slice of toast, applying butter with a generous hand.

Doyle stared at his own plate, the contents of which seemed to have increased despite his efforts. "How many eggs did you use to make this?" he enquired with suspicion.

"Enough," said Bodie evasively. "And now isn't the time for one of your lectures on cholesterol."

"Speaking of which, all that butter you're loading on to that - "

"Eat," commanded Bodie, before demolishing the last mouthful of toast.

Cowed, Doyle ate, although he had to concede defeat a few mouthfuls later. "That was great but I couldn't eat any more. Do you want the rest of it? Stupid question," he answered himself as the tray was taken from him, Bodie making short work of what was left.

"I," said Bodie with replete satisfaction, "am a bloody good cook."

Doyle contented himself with sipping from his mug of tea.

"What are you looking so solemn about?" added Bodie curiously, depositing the empty tray on the floor. "Thinking, were you?"

Yeah, about not reaching out to that fork we shared and licking up the taste of you. Strewth, he was going to have to do better than this if he didn't want to send Bodie running off in the opposite direction, Doyle reminded himself.

"Yeah, about having a shower, I stink," he said flatly, his white-knuckled hand gripping the handle of the mug.

Bodie took a predictable sniff and shook his head. "I’ve known you riper than this. It's a nice idea but you're in no fit state to manage it yet, mate. Especially not if you try taking that taping off your ribs."

"I suppose not," Doyle agreed, too dispirited to argue. He rubbed absently at his lank hair, the curls stiff and heavy from his fall in the mud.

Bodie watched him for several seconds, then sighed. "All right, turn off the pathos. I suppose it can't do much harm if you take it slowly. I can always give you a hand. C'mon then." His supporting arm unwavering, his patience seemingly infinite, he steered his unsteady partner into the bathroom without once letting Doyle feel he was being a burden.

Once under the steady patter of the water Doyle was forced to concede his inability to do anything but remain on his feet, and that precariously. The soap slipped from his grasp almost immediately. His head spinning, he abandoned all thoughts of retrieving it. At least the water was getting rid of the worst of the filth that was sticking his hair together. Any discomfort was no deterrent in comparison to the bliss of feeling clean again.

Leaning back against the shower wall and closing his eyes, he let the water cascade down his body. At that point the shower curtain parted, a familiar face peering in through the steam.

"I thought as much," said Bodie with the gloomy satisfaction of one who has been proved right. "You're not going to get very clean like that are you? Shift over."

Doyle opened his eyes in time to see Bodie peel off his last remaining item of clothing - a sock - before the naked figure stepped into the cubicle next to him. Doyle watched him in unblinking silence, water streaming down his body, steam wreathing them both.

"Well, I know I've got some strange habits, but even I'm not about to take a shower with all my clothes on," Bodie told him with some asperity, disconcerted to find the shower cubicle smaller than he had anticipated. Seeking a diversion he bent down, picked up the bottle of shampoo and sniffed. "This is a bit floral, isn't it? You, my son, are going to start smelling on the exotic side. Right, shut your eyes, you don't want to get any of this in them."

With an acquiescent murmur Doyle did as he was told, one hand lightly grasping the soap container set into the wall for support. Bodie's brisk approach made the intimate service he was offering seem so natural and matter of fact that Doyle was aware of nothing but relief at leaving himself in Bodie's capable hands.

By dint of some stretching, necessitated by Doyle's inability to bend without turning green, Bodie made a good job of washing the filthy curls.

Doyle relaxed totally under the slow scalp massage and sensuous slide of water through his hair. When Bodie had finished, he raised his bowed head with a soft sound of contentment, letting the water flood over his face and down the exposed line of his throat.

"I'm never going to take the pleasure of being clean for granted again," he said, turning under the flow of water. "This feels wonderful," he murmured, tilting his head.

Bodie had been watching the unselfconscious display with a tolerant grin. "Hedonist. Born a few centuries too late, you were. I can just see you lolling back in a bath of asses milk - with or without Cleopatra. Are you ready for the next stage?"

"What's that? I don't bother with conditioner."

"Just as well, because there isn't any. Now we've got your hair clean it's time to move on to the rest of you." Bodie held up a large bar of soap, whose perfume was strictly practical. "Remember this? No, I suppose it has been a while." He shook his head as Doyle reached out to take it from him. "No, it's all right. While you've got me at your beck and call you may as well make the most of it. Anyway, I don't trust you to wash behind your ears, always supposing you could lift your arms high enough."

Even when Bodie's hands first touched him Doyle had no presentiment, lost to luxurious physical sensation. Absolved from all responsibility it was so easy to let Bodie take over. Gentle and impersonal, the soap-laden hands travelled over him as they cleansed his bruised flesh - neck, collar bones, shoulders, arms, wrists and hands all receiving the same careful attention. Then his armpit, Bodie's hands slipping soaping down and round over his chest and belly.

By then, realising the magnitude of his mistake, it was far too late to stop what was fast becoming an unendurable intimacy. Closing his eyes against the fall of the water, unable to bear watching Bodie's engrossed face, Doyle withstood each increasingly poignant touch. He knew there was little likelihood that his bruised flesh would betray him but the insidious pleasure/pain rippling through him tempted the imagination to see what was not there.

The smooth cleansing stroke of the broad hands turned him, gliding slick and efficient over his shoulders, sliding down over his back and buttocks while Bodie offered a flippant running commentary on the appearance of his bruises. By this time, achingly aware of what was missing from Bodie's touch, Doyle's eyes were scrunched shut. Rivulets of water running from his tight ringleted hair and down over his face, there was nothing to betray his agony of mind.

Crouching down to soap a tense calf and narrow foot Bodie had fallen silent, taking Doyle's lack of response for no more than discomfort and fatigue. For all that he could not bring himself to hurry, overly conscious of the pleasure he was finding in what should have been a mundane task. He had never done this for anyone before, his showers taken for purposes strictly practical or wholly sexual; it did not occur to him that this one provided elements of both. He was enjoying the sensation of the lithe, slippery flesh beneath his hands, the intriguing hollows and convexities, contour of unobtrusive muscle and body hair, the different skin textures...

"I never realised how much skin there is on the human body," he mumbled as he rose to his feet and switched off the shower. "Out you come, sunshine, let's get you dry."

Functioning on some automatic level, Doyle moved.

With a start Bodie realised he was applying what must have been a painful excess of enthusiasm in drying the wet, pliant body between his hands. Slowing his movements, he allowed the fabric of the towel to act as a sponge. He paused, watching a water droplet roll from the jut of the collarbone to lie sparkling in the soft, damp tangle of hair between the flat-planed pectoral muscles, his eyes drawn to the taut-puckered nipples which were alike, yet different from a woman's. Attractive though, for all that they peaked a curve of muscle rather than pert breasts. Disconcerted, Bodie returned to his self-appointed task, frowning a little by the time he had finished.

When he knew he could trust his voice Doyle murmured his thanks and reluctantly opened his eyes to see a familiar face only inches away from his own.

"You're looking a bit bloodshot, did you get shampoo in your eyes after all?" queried Bodie. Without pausing to dry himself, he bundled into the bathrobe they seemed to have been sharing. Despite the heat and humidity of the steamy bathroom Doyle was shivering again.

"I forgot to shut my eyes," Doyle lied quickly. He retreated back to the bedroom, his skin prickling with a bitter-sweet awareness.

His hair clinging to his skull, beads of water still glistening on the planes of his face as he followed Doyle, Bodie scowled when he saw the untypical awkwardness of his movements and the unnatural colour high on his cheekbones.

"Maybe, but I'll feel better when you've seen a doctor," he said grimly. "That shower was a mistake. Is your gut still giving you problems?"

"A bit," conceded Doyle tiredly, feeling cold to his bones even under the warmth of the duvet. "I'll be all right. Your back is looking better already, I always forget how fast you heal. It still looks sore in a few places though. Do you want me to see to it for you?"

Having forgotten his own hurts in his preoccupation with Doyle, Bodie gave him a quick look of surprise, then shrugged. "No, it's fine. I only know it's there if I scrape it on something." He wandered aimlessly around the room, trying to disperse some of his excess energy. He stopped when he realised Doyle was watching him.

"We should be doing something about contacting HQ. How do you fancy a hike, you're showing all the signs of going stir crazy?" said Doyle.

As he turned to acknowledge the truth of that, Bodie gave a wry grin. "It wouldn't be so bad if there was something to do. I suppose I could always take up housekeeping if I get desperate enough."

"You in a frilly pinny with chapped hands and housemaids' knees? Nah. Not your style, is it. Listen, I appreciate the thought behind you hanging on here, but there's no need. I haven't cracked up. I mean, I'm not going to start thinking I can fly or anything. The pills must be out of my system by now, so if you want to make tracks..."

"It's a bit late to worry about what HQ are doing. Any investigation will be well underway by now. Knowing Cowley he's probably had our flats cleared to save on rent."

"I wish I didn't think that was a possibility."

"More like a certainty, knowing Cowley. A day or two won't make much difference now. With any luck our George will be so delighted to see his blue-eyed boys again that he'll forget to bawl us out."

Even while he snorted at this typical piece of optimism Doyle tried to argue the point.

"Save it," Bodie advised him. "I'm not saying I wouldn't enjoy some exercise but when we leave here, we leave together, clear?"

"Clear," agreed Doyle. Recognising Bodie's look of determination, he offered no further argument but looked up apologetically mid-yawn, unable to understand his inability to keep his eyes open.

Bodie picked up the tray. "Some people will do anything to get out of doing the washing up. Give me a yell if you want anything."

 

His cheek buried in the bunched up pillow, Doyle's eyes snapped open before he relaxed, the dipping of the mattress and absence of light telling him that Bodie must be coming to bed. Hearing the muffled yawn against his shoulder he remained quite still, stirring only when he felt the breath against his neck take on the deep, enviable cadence of sleep.

He lay in the darkness for a very long time, only the gleam of his eyes betraying the fact that he was awake.

Unless he got it together - and fast - how could he hope to carry on working with Bodie? Apart from all the obvious difficulties, he wasn't prepared to risk killing one or both of them while he mooned around engrossed in unrequited longings.

Of all the people in the world to fall for why did it have to be Bodie? he thought with despair. More to the point, why had it taken him this long to realise? Whichever way you looked at it, his timing stank.

His depressed meanderings were disturbed when Bodie snuffled and stirred in his sleep before wriggling closer to the warmth next to him. A strong leg slid between Doyle's thighs, a proprietorial arm curling over his belly. Enfolded in the sleeping scent and warmth of Bodie Doyle gave a twisted smile out into the darkness.

Maybe it wouldn't be so hard, all he had to do was remember he mustn't touch and couldn't want. The rest was his, and had been for a very long time. It was more than most people had.

He would have to find a way to make that enough.

When he eventually fell asleep his hand was still curved protectively around the back of Bodie's sleeping head, cradling it to him.

oOo

Bodie hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "Are you sure you'll be - ?"

"Oh, for...I'm fine," repeated Doyle, a distinct edge in his voice by this time. "Stop hovering and go and have some breakfast. What the hell do you think I going to do while you've gone? I had a bad dream, that's all. There's no need to go overboard."

"'Course not," agreed Bodie, haunted by the memory of their waking.

Nightmares were an unfortunate legacy of the job and neither of them had ever been immune. They were something so taken for granted that it was never spoken of, except by way of a wry joke. Maybe Ray's nightmares were always like this, they didn't exactly make a habit of sleeping together, Bodie reminded himself, surprised that he should need to do so.

It was the mumbling which had woken him, that and the rigidity of the too warm body he had been wrapped so intimately around. Before he could disentangle them Doyle had cried out, a low, building sound of absolute terror until he finally shuddered awake. Sodden with sweat and trembling, he had made a quick recovery, but not before Bodie had seen the panic on his face as Doyle took in their physical proximity. Reminded of his morning hard-on, Bodie had moved away as casually as he could but he was haunted by the fear that it had been Ray's unconscious awareness of it which had given him the nightmare in the first place.

Bodie remained in the doorway, his back to the room. For his part, his sleep had been easy, Doyle-scented and untouched by any spectre from the near or distant past. And so very sweet, drifting with the gentle comfort of the firm flesh riding against his own. There was nothing to be ashamed of in his physical response, whether Doyle's proximity had been responsible for it or not. There was no easy way to ask Ray if that was what had been bothering him. He couldn't have failed to notice the erect cock poking him in the arse.

Besides, what was he supposed to say? My hard-on worry you, did it Ray? Afraid you're lumbered with a raving queen for a partner?

No, Bodie couldn't see himself asking. He was not sure he was ready to hear the truth, always supposing Doyle would give it. Since he had woken there was a bleakness to Doyle that Bodie did not know how to reach through, or if he should even try.

"Think you'll know me again?" snapped Doyle, disconcerted by Bodie's unwavering stare and terrified by what he might already have betrayed.

"What? Yeah, sorry, mate, I was miles away. I'll bring you some tea in a minute. I was thinking, I may as well use the other bed tonight, it should have dried out by now." Bodie's attempt at nonchalance was not a noticeable success.

Doyle froze. "Why?"

Hearing the sharp note of anxiety, Bodie reluctantly turned back into the room, searching for some innocuous excuse and in his self-consciousness finding none. "I wondered if sharing the bed with me might be bothering you," he muttered finally.

Doyle sagged back against the pillows, realising that he had not given himself away. Then what Bodie had said sunk in. " _Bothering me?_ What the hell are you talking about, Bodie? _Bodie_?"

Halfway across the hall, a noise made Bodie turn. He looked up to see Doyle standing at the top of the stairs, his drawn face set with purpose. It was a matter of seconds before Bodie reached him.

"You daft sod, are you trying to give yourself a punctured lung?" he demanded in exasperation. "Back to bed with you."

"You'll be trying to tempt me with a bed-bath at this rate. Give over. I may as well have breakfast now I'm up," insisted Doyle. From the determined glint in his eyes there seemed little point in arguing with him.

"All right, but put some clothes on, your goosebumps are making me feel chilly. Hang on, I'll get that towelling..." Bodie's voice faded, gaining volume as he reappeared with the robe in his hand. "Get this on. Even with the heating it's none too warm up here. You look like you could use some food at that." He could not remember a time when Doyle had been overweight but his recent fever seemed to have burnt away every ounce of surplus flesh.

"Stop fussing, I'm fine," Doyle grumbled, beginning to feel like a cracked record and fidgeted by Bodie's solicitude.

"Yeah, I can see that," agreed Bodie, dryly unimpressed. "Bursting with health, you are. I'll go down first. Make sure you hold on to the bannisters."

"Yes, mum." Despite his sarcasm Doyle's descent of the stairs was slower than he would have liked, the support of a chair immediately thereafter very welcome.

Busying himself with the cold water tap and kettle Bodie was left feeling that he had done nothing but make a fool of himself.

"So why should you think you're bothering me after all this time?" asked Doyle the moment he got back his breath.

It took Bodie a moment to trace the reference. When he did, he almost dropped the packet he was holding. Seemingly engrossed in tipping cornflakes into two dishes, he gave an exasperated sigh and opted for the truth. "I just thought that after what happened with Davis you might be windy in case - "

" - you were overcome with lust for my manly charms?" suggested an unperturbed voice behind him.

Shame-faced and defiant Bodie wheeled around to find Doyle no more than two feet away, wearing a familiar grin.

"Come off it, mate. Not your style, is it," continued Doyle, his eyes unshadowed. "I mean, if it hasn't happened in the last four years I reckon we can assume my well-known sex-appeal must have failed. What's brought this on? Don't tell me you're daft enough to blame it on a psycho like Davis?"

Some minute change in Bodie's expression gave him his answer. "Oh, wake up with sweet thoughts, did you?" he said with delicate matter of factness. "Or just the usual morning hard-on?"

It was impossible to remain self-conscious under that pragmatic acceptance of a biological norm and Bodie gave a gusting sigh. "I should have guessed you'd notice."

Doyle snorted. "It's not like you to be so modest. Where's the problem? It's a good healthy sign, that. Have one for me while you're at it. Just so long as we agree here and now that you sleep on any damp patches."

Residual tension dispelled, Bodie grinned, genuinely amused. "It's a deal."

In an abrupt change of mood Doyle scowled as he took the dishes from Bodie's hands. "You're going to let these get soggy if we don't get started. And I need all the snap, crackle and pop I can get." He sat back at the table and picked up his spoon with a hand which still had a disconcerting tendency to shake.

He couldn't blame Bodie for looking so uneasy, the way he was behaving. He had to stop thinking about himself all the time. There was no point in continuing to hope, Bodie's relief had been all too obvious. Still, at least Bodie had broached the subject of his own accord, which had to be a good sign. Didn't it? He was beginning to wonder if he knew anything any more. Staring at the pile of cornflakes perched on his spoon without making any attempt to eat them, Doyle resolutely thrust his doubts and worries aside and began to make conversation.

Bodie munched his cornflakes while he waited for the kettle to boil. As he listened to Doyle's cheerful suggestions of what Cowley's first words on seeing them would be, it occurred to Bodie that it wouldn't be at difficult to create a very sweet dawn fantasy about the man opposite him. Ray was such a sensual little sod that he invited speculation. Watching him tongue milk from the corner of his bottom lip Bodie realised what a sexy mouth Doyle had. From there it was a frighteningly small step to wondering what it would be like to have that experienced mouth go down on him.

As it occurred to him what he had been wishing, Bodie choked on a mouthful of cornflakes. A violent coughing fit ensued. Watery-eyed and scarlet-faced, he was still gasping when a mug of coffee was plonked down in front of him. He looked up in surprise.

"I might still have the shakes and be prone to screaming my head off in the middle of the night but even I can pour hot water on to instant coffee," said Doyle with asperity. "And before you ask, I'm fine." He disposed of the remnants of his breakfast before Bodie could notice how little he had eaten and start nagging him again.

"I never doubted it," Bodie assured him, striving for normality. While he sipped his coffee his eyes absently followed Doyle as he made his way around the kitchen. Even allowing for the present stiffness of his movements Ray had the ability to imbue the most mundane task with a sensuality that in anyone else he would know was a studied pose. But that was Ray, completely at home in his own body, knowing its power so well that he took it for granted, as Bodie had been doing until a few minutes ago.

The comfortable domesticity of the small kitchen closing in on him, Bodie felt hot and itchy, the atmosphere charged with a potent awareness akin to sexual expectancy.

Off-balance and uneasy, he watched Doyle sink back on to his chair, seemingly unaware of anything but his untouched coffee. As he leant forward to pick up his mug the towelling robe he wore gaped open to reveal a drift of honey-tinted skin, soft brown body hair and a taut-puckered nipple, the revelation all the more tantalising because it concealed more than it revealed. With uncomfortable clarity Bodie remembered how that body had felt under his hands, or in bed, moulding itself along his length, relaxed and sleepy. From there it was only a short step to wondering how it would be to know a responsive Ray Doyle, to feel all that sensuality turned on you.

The slow warmth spreading in his groin made Bodie's eyes widen in wry acknowledgement.

From being so uptight that he could not even accept his own sexuality to this pleasurable lick of desire, was one hell of a leap in five days.

That would teach Ray to put ideas in his head. But Bodie recognised that his appraisal just now had demonstrated how dangerously little encouragement he had needed, the interest waiting only to be kindled. Time to kill it now, before the first spark turned to a conflagration that destroyed their partnership.

Sexual involvement with Ray Doyle was an involvement Bodie had no intention of permitting so much as breathing space, particularly not to satisfy the whim of the moment. There were plenty of other fish in the sea. Besides, homosexual sex... What the hell was he thinking? An involuntary shudder tightened his muscles as memory reminded him all too vividly what the truth of gay sex had been. It took a moment before he could banish the spectre of Doyle and himself battling for dominance, sharing the ugly reality that he had seen twice in his life, with nothing to show him it could ever be any different.

" - going to throw up those cornflakes or eat them? Are you all right? Only you've gone a nasty shade of green. That'll teach you to bolt your food."

Bodie looked up and found himself staring directly in Doyle's face, his mouth, that luscious mouth, was just parted, as if contemplating what to kiss first.

The flash of savage repudiation Doyle glimpsed in Bodie's expression drained the colour from his face as he recognised on Bodie's face what he had feared from the first - revulsion. His breath catching, there was no way Doyle could conceal the extent of his reaction. He knew there must be some reassurance he could make, something that would relegate this to the level of a joke until the raw truth had been obscured and they could try to talk around it, as they always had done about everything important. Instead he found himself incapable of speech or movement, frozen in his chair, ice cold as the blood buzzed in his ears.

Bodie knew. Bodie knew what he felt for him. Somehow he had given himself away. Bodie knew and couldn't take it.

The front door bell sounded shockingly loud in the silence.

It was Bodie who finally stirred and left the kitchen to go to the door. Finding it difficult to concentrate, he knew he must be staring like a man demented at the fresh-faced police constable standing on the doorstep. After a moment he began to absorb what he was being told. They could thank their rescue to the long arm of coincidence rather than the all-seeing all-knowing presence of George Cowley. The police were in the middle of a routine check on the many holiday homes scattered around the area after a van driver had belatedly reported the attempt to hold him up by a disreputable-looking character. The matter had only been reported because the man had heard a local news flash and thought the man could have been one of the three prisoners on the run from Strangeways top security wing.

Even after being told all that Bodie was slow to shift mental gear, his mind still trapped in visions of violence. Doyle was being subjected to the degradation of Davis' Game, only this time the gloating face and savagely thrusting body was his own.

" - So if you've seen any strangers around while you've been staying here, sir."

Bodie gave the constable a look of incomprehension, collected his thoughts and, all belated crisp efficiency, began a succinct explanation of his own. It took him a couple of minutes of convince PC Williams that this was not some practical joke, particularly as he could produce no supporting identification. Drawing on the patience which he had learnt to cultivate in his years of working with Doyle, Bodie persevered.

Within ten minutes of the constable appearing on their doorstep Bodie had spoken to Cowley via the radio in the patrol car.


	4. Chapter 4

Disconcerted by the speed with which events had overruled the routine of his day, PC Williams was unhappy. Despite the verification of identity he had heard from an unemotional, disembodied Scottish voice and this man's demonstrable competence, the leashed ferocity he sensed beneath the urbane exterior made him wary and mistrustful, yet to be convinced Bodie was on the side of the angels. Williams' final doubts were dispelled by hearing his Inspector volunteering a car and driver to take the two men to London. Relieved the hear he would not be the poor unfortunate making the journey down south with them, Williams relaxed.

 

Nodding his thanks to the constable, Bodie went back into the cottage to fetch Doyle. He was relieved to discover that Doyle, who had obviously overheard enough to tell him what was going on, had spent the time dressing. Wearing clean jeans and a sweater he had taken from the bag of clothing provided for them, Doyle had the look of an Oxfam refuge, his beard-shadowed face with the remnants of the disfiguring bruising increasing his disreputable look.

Bodie spared him only a glance as he told Doyle the car would be here any minute. "You ready to go?" he added brusquely, remaining in the doorway.

Shoving on the second still-laced and filthy trainer, Doyle nodded and got to his feet with every appearance of ease.

"Isn't there anything you want to take with you?" Bodie asked.

Doyle didn't need to check. "Not a thing," he confirmed, his voice almost as crisp as Bodie's.

They left the cottage without a backward glance.

 

Les Robinson had given up smoking over five years ago and had never considered himself to be an imaginative man, an opinion his colleagues at the small police station at Heathcote and his family could have verified. Fifty miles into his journey down to London he found himself fumbling for a packet of cigarettes.

Not one given to the exercise of the more social graces, Robinson experienced no desire to break the habit of a lifetime and burst into speech. However, as the journey continued, the quality of the silence between the two men in the back of the Rover made him increasingly uneasy, until he would have welcomed any sound of conversation. At first he had dismissed the lack as no more than the aftermath of the sort of argument that was inevitable when you worked hard, long hours with someone. Only gradually did it occur to him that the atmosphere was far too cold to contain that much warmth, the faces of his passengers withdrawn. The man with the beard looked in no fit state for a journey to anywhere but the hospital. Funny kind of partners they must breed down south, he thought sourly. Embarrassed by the extent of his curiosity about them, he concentrated on his driving and the worsening weather conditions; the sleet had changed to heavily falling snow, slowing their progress.

 

The pain in his side intensifying with every bump and jolt, Doyle fidgeted as he tried to find a position that would offer some respite. He made several attempts to breach the cold wall of silence with which Bodie had surrounded himself, giving up for lack of encouragement.

It wasn't, he recognised, his expression bleak, that Bodie was consciously ignoring him, more as if, for Bodie, he had ceased to exist altogether.

Telling himself that he was over-reacting, Doyle swallowed against rising nausea, sweat clammy against his skin. It was hot in the car, the heater on full blast. Pushing up the sleeves of his sweater as far as they would go, he wound his window down a little, gulping in the icy air that made his face smart and his eyes begin to water.

A surly offer to turn down the heating from their hitherto silent driver made him wind up the window, grimly determined that he would neither faint nor throw up until he was in the privacy of his own flat. First they had to see Cowley and make their reports. Despite his apprehension about how Bodie would handle that in his present mood, Doyle fell into an uneasy doze, unaware that in sleep he began to encroach on the space of the man at his side.

"Bugger!"

Swerving to avoid a sheet of opaque plastic that was threatening to obscure the windscreen completely, Robinson was thankful for the lack of traffic as he returned to the first lane.

"Sorry about that," he offered, having heard a brief exclamation, abruptly cut off behind him.

Glancing in the driving mirror he saw that the bearded man, paler than he had been, sat up - or more correctly was shrugged away by his unsmiling companion. Untypically, Robinson found himself straining to hear what, if anything, was said.

"I must have dozed off. Sorry," muttered Doyle. Disorientated, he had one hand pressed to the pain in his side in a vain effort to ward off the worst of it.

Bodie spared him a glance. "I don't suppose you'll make a habit of it." He had already turned his gaze back to the passing scenery, wanting to escape this enforced intimacy, to get the explanations to Cowley over with and resume the uncomplicated lifestyle that had suited him so well.

Two hours ago Doyle would have known he was joking, now he was no longer sure of anything. Careful to remain in the corner of the back seat, he kept a tight rein on his own temper and made no reply.

The level of heat in the car became intolerable.

"Could you stop at the next service station?" Doyle said abruptly, the moment he saw the sign. "I could use a break."

In the absence of any disagreement from his other passenger, Robinson grunted his assent. When he parked outside the service station a mile and a half later, only Doyle left the car. To Robinson's surprise he made no move towards either the toilets or the cafeteria but simply leant against the wet side of the car, seemingly oblivious to the cold or to the snow swirling around him.

After ten minutes had gone by Robinson began to wonder what kind of maniac he was transporting. Impatient to get on, he wound the window down the necessary couple of inches.

"Do you want to make this a long stop, sir?"

Doyle flinched, then turned. "What? No. You'll want to get on."

Wriggling round on his seat to face the windscreen again Robinson discovered his other passenger was now sitting beside him.

Bodie offered no explanation for his move nor, upon getting back into the car, did Doyle comment on the changed seating arrangements. Instead, leaning his wet head back while the particles of snow melted from his face and hair, he gave an excellent impression of a man sleeping, except that his wide, rarely blinking gaze remained fixed on the back of Robinson's balding head.

Their journey was prolonged by the worsening weather, lane closures and the idiotic behaviour of a few drivers. The only other conversation consisted of Bodie quietly offering details of a short cut when they reached the outskirts of London.

When he parked in a small car park outside an undistinguished looking building, Robinson was glad to see his two passengers whisked away. Rejecting the offer of overnight hospitality, he contented himself with tea and a sandwich, wanting, inexplicably, to be back home amongst all that was familiar, away from strange undercurrents he did not understand. On impulse he searched through his pockets and found enough change to ring home. His wife, unaccustomed to such demonstrative gestures from her stolid mate of thirty-one years, was placidly reassuring once she was over her initial worry that something might be wrong with him.

His unease dispelled, Robinson set off home, comfortable with the quality of the silence on his return journey.

 

Trim and unflappable, Betty's guarded speech of welcome died stillborn, her smile frozen into place as she escorted the two agents into Cowley's office. She was not sure why she was doing so, they both knew the way as well as she did. There was the same horrible fascination in watching them as came from witnessing the aftermath of a road accident. It took her a few moments to place what was wrong between the partners. They usually talked non-stop, their banter designed to entertain or distract, or sometimes both. Whatever their mood or state of health she'd never seen them like this before. As they headed down the corridor it occurred to her that she might not know them quite as well as she had assumed.

Usually alert and never missing a trick, today they seemed unaware of her presence and oblivious to each other. Very self-contained, Bodie seemed almost eager to get there, striding a constant one pace ahead. By contrast, Ray seemed to have little awareness of his surroundings, to the point where he bumped into her outside the door to Cowley's office, muttered an apology and stepped back immediately. At any other time she would have been on her guard, certain it was Ray Doyle trying it on with her - it was an unrelenting game which had been going on far longer than she cared to remember. Ray and Bodie had spent unsuccessful years trying to gain some response from her. It had been a matter of private self-congratulation that they had never managed it, until now.

Offering an encouraging smile, which neither man noticed, Betty opened the door to Cowley's office and abandoned them to his dubious mercy.

 

As he looked up, all Cowley's attention homed in on the men in the doorway; his expression changing, he checked what he had been about to say. This was neither the time or place.

The signs of physical wear and tear did not worry him unduly, the atmosphere they had brought into the room with them did.

While quite capable of recognising and making use of their worth as individuals, even Cowley had come to think of Bodie and Doyle as a pair - an indissoluble team: Bodie and Doyle, bread and butter. Where you found one, sooner or later the other would appear. Insubordinate, disrespectful and obedient only when it suited them they were the best he had ever had. With a faint chill he was forced to recognise that the men standing in front of him were two distinct and clearly separate entities. Standing shoulder to shoulder, just inside the doorway, they were obviously far apart, all lines of communication severed. He was familiar with their anger, both with himself and each other. That, too, was absent, replaced by a chilling indifference.

Cowley offered little indication of either his relief that they were alive, or his curiosity as to who - or what - had kept them captive for this long. He kept to himself his annoyance at how much valuable time had been wasted in looking for them since their disappearance.

"At last. Well, sit yourselves down. Despite the undoubted inconvenience you've caused, not least to me, I'm glad to see the pair of you."

He received neither ribald comment nor an explanation, there weren't even any excuses, which was always a worrying sign. He presumed Doyle was feeling too unwell to be capable of trying to steer the conversation and Bodie...

Now there was a puzzle. Cowley sat back in his chair and studied the younger man's bland face, prepared to resolve the problem of what could be wrong with Bodie if it took him all night.

"I can't," he said dryly, "recall the last time I saw either of you this subdued. I'll take your reports now. Kidnapping I think you said, 3.7?"

Two pairs of eyes briefly met his. Doyle was the first to look away, glancing first at Bodie before staring at the floor. Cowley continued to concentrate his attention on Bodie, recognising the spurious aura of calm which surrounded the younger man. In the past he had always learnt more from Bodie than Doyle. He had no terms of reference for how to deal with Doyle, the agent he understood least. In the course of their somewhat tempestuous relationship, he had assumed he had seen Doyle in every conceivable frame of mind. He had been wrong. Tense and awkward, today Doyle was betraying a self-consciousness Cowley would have thought beyond him. The younger man was all rigid self-control, as if he was afraid of what he might let slip if he relaxed his guard.

"Yes, sir, kidnapping," confirmed Bodie belatedly. "I would prefer to make my report in private," he added with wooden clarity. Chilly blue eyes studied him in minute detail.

"Doubtless." About to point out that Bodie's wishes had little interest for him, Cowley refrained when he glimpsed a movement, instantly stilled from Doyle.

"And you, 4.5, what would you prefer?" His sarcasm was wasted when he had to repeat the question to gain the younger man's attention.

"I - Whichever..." And Doyle, who could be relied upon to have the last word in any situation, trailed off into silence.

Suspicious of what might be behind such untypical behaviour, Cowley leant forward, his expression severe. "Are you drunk?"

"No. But he'd been doped up to the eyeballs. He could do with seeing a doctor," interceded Bodie. But rather than concerned he sounded bored and his gaze never left the older man.

"Drugged?" The focus of Cowley's formidable stare narrowed. "You've been forcibly - "

"Nah," interrupted Doyle casually. "I took too much speed, that's all. I'm over it now."

"You voluntarily took - ?" Incredulous with anger Cowley twisted the flexible stem of his angle-poise desk lamp to place Doyle's face under the spotlight. He tilted it down again a few seconds later, having seen enough. "Wanton irresponsibility," he snapped, his manner devoid of sympathy, "which you'll explain to my satisfaction or find yourself suspended."

It was no surprise by this time to discover that Doyle received the news in apathetic silence. But Cowley was aware of a strong sense of anticlimax when his casual dismissal of Doyle's well-being did not occasion an explosion of concern from Bodie, whom he had always considered to be over-protective where Doyle was concerned.

"In the circumstances I think it would be as well to take your report first, 4.5, while you're still lucid enough to give it. Bodie, you can see Doctor Marston while I'm busy with Doyle."

"Do you want me to come back here afterwards?"

Cowley frowned. He would have sworn that nothing could have split these two men, least of all himself, yet here were all the signs of a schism that could destroy the working efficiency of the most valuable team he had ever had in CI5.

"No," he said after a moment for reflection. "You can spend the night in the private wing. I'll come and see you there tomorrow morning." He knew his other agents and the often puerile sense of humour that was prevalent from members of his squad all too well. In this frame of mind Bodie was likely to react to some ill-judged witticism first and regret it some time later. He didn't want anyone else on the sick-list. Best to keep Bodie safely tucked out of harm's way. Instead of vocal protests, the only reaction Bodie gave was a quickly suppressed flash of irritation.

"Yes, sir." Bodie rose smoothly to his feet.

"Bodie ?"

Cowley just managed to conceal his start of surprise. Doyle had effaced himself so successfully that he had been in danger of forgetting his presence. For several seconds he thought Bodie was going to ignore Doyle completely. When he did look at Doyle it was with no more than polite interest, as if at a stranger.

Cowley recognised the moment when Doyle's mask slipped, his expression stricken before he found a lop-sided smile from somewhere. "It's all right, it was nothing important. I'll see you around."

To Cowley it had the sound of a question.

Ignoring the man behind the desk, Bodie nodded. "It seems almost inevitable," he agreed, just before he turned smartly on his heel and left the room, a parade-ground swing to his arms and a snap to his step.

Accustomed to Doyle's acidic self-sufficiency Cowley had never regarded the younger man as being in need of protection until the door shut behind Bodie. In the few minutes which followed Cowley found himself bustling around the desk to switch on the main light before he fetched whisky and glasses. He poured two stiff measures and pushed a brimming tumbler across the desk.

"Get that inside of you, you look in need of it," he said with a brusque impatience which imperfectly concealed a concern he could not afford to feel.  
Doyle gave the glass a blank look, then shook his head. "I'd rather get my report over with first, if it's all the same to you, sir."

Cowley set up the tape deck and sat back in his chair, gesturing for Doyle to begin, with no idea of what he could expect to hear.

Several cassette tapes later Doyle's recital came to a limping conclusion. From abduction through rape to recovery - everything, Bodie had said. He thought, vaguely, that he must have been lucid enough because Cowley hadn't interrupted him once. He seemed to have been talking for a very long time.

When Cowley made no attempt to speak, the soft whir of the a cassette in the tape deck the only sound, Doyle looked up, the skin beneath his eyes bruised with tension and exhaustion.

"That's all," he said, his expression tightening as he sat a little higher in his chair, one hand involuntarily going to the sharp, spearing pain in his side.

Cowley leant forward to switch off the tape recorder. He didn't intend the questions he had to ask now to be a matter of public record - or only if there was no alternative.

"Does your present discomfort stem from Davis' boot?" he asked.

Fighting against rising nausea and the intensifying pain which had now spread from rib to groin and was coming close to making him whimper, Doyle gave the briefest of nods.

Cowley poured himself another drink. "We've been after Angetti for a long time. Special Branch will be delighted to have some concrete evidence at last. You know the matter will have to be referred to them eventually?" He flattened all emotion from his voice, giving Doyle all the help he could. Doyle's report had been clear, concise and painfully explicit about everything that had happened - right up to the period where he and Bodie had been alone at the cottage. Then the events of four days had been covered in as many sentences.

"We both knew that," said Doyle.

Cowley subdued his flare of triumph when he heard the fierce, quick possessiveness in that _we_. "Good, because I'll not pretend that the publicity, which will undoubtedly ensue, will be pleasant for either of you. How has Bodie come to terms with what...? With being raped," he amended, rejecting the evasion. Even the most unpalatable fact had to be faced.

"He'll be all right. Given time."

"You sound very certain."

"I know him."

 _Better than you_. The challenge was as obvious as if Doyle had voiced the unspoken. Cowley gave him a thoughtful look.

"Yes, you do. Better than anyone else has ever been given the opportunity to, I would imagine." Disliking himself for what he must ask next, he didn't hesitate. "But in view of your longstanding friendship with Bodie perhaps you can account for the current marked change in your relationship?"

"Sir?"

They both knew it was no more than a stalling technique. Silent, Cowley sat back, prepared to wait Doyle out for as long as it took.

Recognising as much, Doyle gave an audible sigh and shook his head at something only he could see. "Bodie's tired. We both are," he offered lamely, knowing it would take more than that to satisfy Cowley.

"So?"

"So nothing. That's it."

Doyle's voice held the abrasive note with which Cowley was most familiar, in consequence, his approach was harsher than he might otherwise have intended.

"Doyle, it's ten-thirty at night and I've been in this office since seven-fifteen this morning. Fatigue is not the prerogative of the young. I've no intention of sitting here all night listening to you guard your partner's delicate sensibilities. What - exactly - is wrong with Bodie? Or does the main problem lie with you?"

Doyle flinched, then went very still, but he couldn't meet Cowley's shrewd gaze.

"I see. So the problem is with you, not Bodie?"

"Mainly." Staring at the floor, it was obvious Doyle had no intention of elucidating.

Cowley took another slow mouthful of whisky, loosened the knot of his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. It was obviously going to be a long night.

"I need more information than that. Do you mean your attitude to Bodie has changed? If so, in what respect? Do you feel he's been diminished in some way by the rape? That he's somehow become less of a man? That he's lost his edge? Or is it simply that you're reluctant to work with him any more in case he's been nurturing homosexual tendencies all these years and you fear for your virtue?"

Doyle's look of incomprehension melted away and he gave a reluctant grin as Cowley's reasonable tone penetrated the fog which had turned his brain to cottonwool.

"Well?" pressed Cowley, more of a bite to his voice by this time.

It occurred to Doyle that now would be a convenient time to faint or drop dead. "It would be nice if it was that simple."

Unsurprised, Cowley gave a brisk nod. "I thought as much." Draining his glass, he sat toying with it before pinning Doyle with a steady gaze. "What's the problem then?"

"With respect, sir, it's none of your business. Your only interest lies in our working efficiency. That won't be impaired." It had a hollow ring of confidence, even to Doyle.

"So you maintain. I wonder if anyone's thought to consult Bodie for his views on the subject. Rape, the sense of violation, the total loss of control, are never easy to come to terms with. It will have come hard to Bodie that you know exactly what happened to him - and worse, that you tended to his injuries. Harder perhaps than the physical violation. In some perverse way has he come to place the blame on your shoulders?"

Doyle was busy gazing at the floor again. "No. We got through that stage. He's... He was coping with every aspect of the rape. He seemed to be coming to terms with it really well and he lost his self-consciousness with me the moment I flaked out. As for the bitterness..." He looked up. "Davis being dead helps. It's too soon to know if Bodie's recovery will last, but I think it will. Yesterday..." his sigh betrayed more than he realised "Bodie told me that Davis wasn't important enough to let anything he'd done change him. I think it was more than just words."

"You still haven't answered my question. What's the nature of your problem? Must I remind you that I have no interest, prurient or otherwise, in the private lives of those working for me, unless anything about those lives threatens to have an adverse effect on their work. There's no way I would risk the pair of you working together now, or in the foreseeable future. I have no wish to lose either or both of your services, which will be the inevitable outcome unless this is dealt with now. What's wrong with Bodie?"

His face obscured by shadows, Doyle took an audible breath and fidgeted where he sat but there was no escaping the inevitable. "It's been an emotional sort of a week, one way and another. Things got a bit intense, that's all. We just need some time away from each other. Neither of us will be fit for duty for a few days. That's all we need. A few days rest."

At any other time that would have been a remarkable statement from Doyle, mused Cowley, having expected nothing else by this time.

"Intense in what respect? Emotionally, physically or sexually?" While braced for a possible storm, Cowley had a shrewd idea which answer he would receive.

"Don't you ever give up?" Running a hand back through his hair Doyle's face was devoid of emotion as he met Cowley's passionless gaze. "All three on my part," he said with precision. "And even I can see that my timing was lousy."

Outside, the noise of late evening traffic sounded wetly. A horn blared, and in the distance was the sound of a police siren.

Cowley felt no great surprise at that confirmation of what he had begun to suspect several weeks ago. Nor did he feel any satisfaction at being proved correct. It was no victory. What he hadn't expected was Doyle's calm announcement of his commitment to Bodie. No, not calm. There was nothing calm about Doyle at the moment, only a lot of suppressed emotion which was threatening to break free from confinement.

"On your part?"

"What the fuck d'you think! Sorry," Doyle added a beat later. "Yes, just me. I wasn't at my best. I must have done something to give myself away. I wasn't expecting it, you see. Well, it isn't something that springs to mind unless you already fancy blokes, is it? So Bodie guessed. He nearly threw up. In the circumstances, I can't say I blame him."

Cowley studied him in a thoughtful silence. As Doyle had said, his timing had been less than perfect but he wasn't convinced that Doyle was objective enough to see things clearly at present. To an onlooker, if not a completely disinterested onlooker, Bodie's attitude towards the man who was his partner had passed through many phases - indifference had never played a part in any of them.

"So I can take it that you haven't discussed your feeling with Bodie, even obliquely?" he pursued relentlessly.

"Discussed them? You must be joking. Apart from anything else, there hasn't been time. I had my great revelation about three minutes before the local coppers appeared at the front door. And since then Bodie's made it pretty obvious he doesn't to want to talk at all, never mind about that," Doyle added, his voice flat with depression.

"You think he'll try to pretend the situation doesn't exist?"

Pain clawing through him, Doyle had an arm clutched around his middle as he glared across the desk. "It doesn't as far as Bodie's concerned. This is my problem, not his."

"No, but how do you - ? Never mind, lad. Let it rest for tonight. I should have sent your straight to Doctor Marston," recognised Cowley, experiencing a twinge of guilt as he took in Doyle's appearance. There was no comfort he could offer Doyle or Bodie, and no easy solution. It surprised him that he should want to provide either for them. "Give it time," he urged, his voice unusually kind. "For Bodie and yourself. Things have a habit of working themselves out."

"What, have a good night's sleep and wake up to find it's been no more than a bad dream?" said Doyle derisively, perilously close to the emotional edge. He was - just - able to recognise the fact. He had been braced for disgust, dismissal or suspension but this gruff kindness was threatening to overset him.

"Excuse me for a minute," he said, blindly getting to his feet. He had disappeared through the door leading to the bathroom adjoining Cowley's office before the older man could say a word.

It was fifteen minutes before Cowley, alerted by the absence of any sound, went in search of him. He found Doyle in an unconscious sprawl on the floor, one hand curled impotently around his mid-section.

oOo

On his way out Cowley yawned, paused, then turned back down the corridor of the small private hospital, whose facilities were shared by all the Intelligence services. It took him only a couple of minutes to locate Bodie's room. Cowley knocked on the door and entered immediately afterwards. He wasn't surprised to see the dark silhouette standing by the window, the motionless figure seemingly engrossed in watching the progress of intermittent snowflakes before they melted on contact with the ground.

Bodie turned with reluctance, guessing who his visitor must be even at this ungodly hour of the morning. His medical had been unpleasantly thorough; now wasn't the moment he would have chosen to give his report.

With uncanny perspicacity Cowley pre-empted anything he might have attempt to say. "I doubt if you feel much like company right now, far less talking. I won't keep you long. Doyle's report was thorough enough, except for a couple of details."

"You've been with Doyle all this time?"

There was a satisfying edge to the smooth voice. Encouraged, Cowley choose his words with care. "Most of it. He's now a few hundred yards down the corridor."

"Have the doctors checked him out?"

"As best they could."

Bodie turned back to the window. "Is he all right?"

The uninterested facade was growing less convincing by the minute. Cowley gave a faint sigh. Life would have been a lot simpler if he had been able to remain officially ignorant of certain facts. "Medical men are notoriously reluctant to commit themselves, although that didn't stop Marston from giving me a lengthy lecture - "

"What about?" demanded Bodie, snapping up the bait.

"Failing to diagnose the fact Doyle had been nursing a grumbling appendix. It burst - " Cowley glanced at his watch, " - approximately two and three quarter hours ago."

"What!" Bodie spun around, flicking the light on as he did so.

"You heard me. And kindly lower your voice. This is a hospital. While Marston was none too pleased with Doyle's general condition, the official consensus of opinion is that he'll pull through."

His clenched fists thrust into the pockets of the bathrobe that had been provided for him, Bodie's face was an impassive mask once more. "No reason why he shouldn't," he agreed. "I knew something was wrong but I put it down to one punch too many." Any guilt he felt wasn't for Cowley's eyes. "Will that be all, sir?"

Dismissed, Cowley nodded. "Until tomorrow morning, yes. Doyle's in room two hundred and seven," he added at the door, but Bodie had already turned back to the window.

oOo

Replacing the telephone receiver after the third interruption in the twenty minutes Bodie had been sitting opposite him, Cowley penned a brief reminder to himself before looking up. "Doctor Marston tells me you'll be ready for active duty by the beginning of next week. Take another week on top of that and get yourself fit. Or I can arrange for you to spend some time with Brian Macklin."

A pained expression crossed Bodie's face.

"Aye, that's what I thought. Let Control have a note of your whereabouts. I suppose you'll be close at hand."

"Why?"

"With Doyle in hospital?"

Bodie's pale face, with the vestige of the disfiguring bruising, was blandly uninformative. "He's over the worst of it now. He doesn't need me hanging around to hold his hand."

He pushed to the back of his mind Doyle as he had seen him in the early hours of last night. He had spent nearly two hours in the sleeping man's room until he had stalked out, angry with himself but mostly with Doyle for making him feel this way. A break, that was all they needed, some time apart so that the intensity that had built between them had a chance to dissipate.

"I'd rather get away for a few days," Bodie added, in a tone that did not invite discussion.

Cowley accepted that without comment; experience had taught him that Bodie could be led but not pushed, except in exceptional circumstances. "As you wish, but remember to save some of your energy for the work that will be awaiting you on your return. I - " Interrupted by the phone again, he made a sound of impatience before answering it.

About to make good his escape, Bodie was waved back into his chair. He was left with nothing more interesting to listen to than Cowley's monosyllabic replies. Three seconds after the older man had replaced the receiver Bodie found himself undergoing a brisk, impersonal interrogation. Swiftly realising why, he swallowed his initial anger and cooperated fully.

The call had been from Special Branch. Angetti, together with four other men, had been found murdered at his Surrey home. The dead men were apparently his two bodyguards, together with two Italian nationals known to have close ties with the Mafia.

For the first time since his return to London Bodie smiled; wide and disquieting, it did nothing to reassure Cowley, even though he appreciated the sentiment that lay behind it. His mouth puckered as if he had sucked a lemon.

"You can wipe that smirk off your face. It will come as no surprise to you to hear that Special Branch are anxious to interview both Doyle and yourself as a matter of some urgency. To the best of their knowledge you're the last people, barring the murderers, to have seen Angetti and his retinue alive. The bodies were discovered first thing this morning when Mrs Angetti made an unscheduled trip home. They had obviously been dead for several days."

"Then it's lucky it's been chilly recently," said Bodie.

Cowley's frown deepened at that display of poor taste.

"Why have Special Branch latched on to us though?" Bodie added. "I mean, I can see Doyle and I have a motive, but Special Branch can't know about that. How did they get on to us so quickly?"

"Your identity cards, wallets, guns and holsters were in Angetti's study. They were the only documents left, all his papers have disappeared."

"I'd forgotten about our stuff," Bodie conceded. "It's lucky Doyle and I didn't decide to take to a life of crime then. So someone topped the bastard." It was slowly sinking in that there would be no trial, which meant there would be no publicity. Someone had saved him an uncomfortable time, not least in the witness box, given the sort of brief Angetti would have been able to afford.

This time the smile he directed at Cowley held genuine warmth. "You can't deny Angetti's death saves us a lot of time and work. The trial would have been messy," he added with fine understatement.

"Undoubtedly," agreed Cowley dryly. "It also saves me the task of finding you two work to keep you busy on the other side of the country, so you couldn't settle the score with Angetti yourselves. And spare me the look of injured innocence. You know as well as I do that, in the unlikely event of you developing any commonsense, Doyle would have gone after them." There was a hint of grudging approval in his voice which Bodie missed, his expression closing again.

"Only two bodyguards, you say?"

"Yes. The man - Cooper, was it? - seems to have got clear away. There was no trace of him at the house, no indication he had ever been there. In your view is he likely to have been implicated in Angetti's death?"

Bodie shrugged. "I didn't see much of him before...before the rape. Afterwards I was in shock. Those painkillers he handed out packed one hell of a punch. Doyle might have more idea. I think he was with Cooper while Davis was with me." There was a hint of question in his voice.

Cowley nodded. "They were in the next room."

Bodie's eyes widened with comprehension. "Then Ray must have heard - " He cut off what he had been about to say.

"Modern houses aren't as solidly constructed as they might be. I've often thought Doyle was too imaginative for his own peace of mind," Cowley added with perfect truth. "Now, down to business. An Inspector Trantor is handling the Angetti murder. Here's his number. Fix up a time to go and see him. Give Trantor your full cooperation. I've warned him that Doyle's unlikely to be fit enough for questioning for another day or two at the earliest."

"I'll go over there now, get it over with," said Bodie, tucking the slip of paper into his jacket pocket. "I'll see you on the twenty-sixth of January then, sir," he added briskly.

"Aye. Oh, while you will, of course, give Trantor a full account of your past acquaintance with Davis, I see no reason why the extent or exact nature of Davis' attack on yourself should become public knowledge. It can have no bearing on Angetti's death."

Bodie paused at the door, eyebrows raised. "Are you suggesting I withhold primary evidence, sir?"

"No," said Cowley with some asperity. "I'm suggesting that the edifying information that you've been raped by a psychopath who's been dead for a week is unlikely to assist the inquiry into a Mafia killing. Enjoy your leave."

The relief that it was almost over was so great that Bodie had no hope of being able to conceal what it meant to him. "Thank you, sir," he said, with real gratitude, just before he hurried out, his emotions closer to the surface than he knew how to deal with.

He stifled the impulse to go straight to the hospital. He couldn't face Doyle, not yet. But at least he knew what lay behind Doyle's disturbed nights. He could imagine all too vividly what Ray would have gone through, his imagaination working overtime - with no option but to hear every creak of the bed, every grunt Davis had made.

Bodie took several calming breaths and tried to push away a scalding sense of humiliation. He just needed some time to get things back in perspective. The days off Cowley had added to his sick-leave stretched emptily ahead of him but they would be easy to fill if he put his mind to it. He and Ray had been living in each other's pockets for too long. There was nothing that strange about what he'd been feeling for Ray. It was just a passing fancy, a perverse reaction caused by... Who knew or cared what had caused it? The feelings would pass. They had to.

But Bodie had been concerned enough about the potential effect on his relationship with Doyle to be tempted to mention it to Kate Ross during the obligatory meeting with her. He had resisted the temptation to unburden himself. He had no wish to find himself out on his ear, or minus a partner when the news got out, as it inevitably would. Not that he could see Doyle taking action to split up the team but he couldn't take the risk that he would be left with nothing but Ray's pity - not to mention what the inevitable self-consciousness would do to their partnership. It would be easier to deal with if he could be sure what he wanted himself but all he knew was that he hardly recognised himself any more.

Ray, poor bugger, must be wondering what the hell was going on. He didn't feel up to seeing Doyle right now but promised himself that he would sort things out as soon as he got back from his holiday.

Bodie went into the large office all the agents shared, relieved it was empty, and fished out the piece of paper with the Inspector from Special Branch's phone number on it. Quickly arranging a meeting, he set off for Scotland Yard.

oOo

It had taken Bodie only a few moments to eye up the available talent in the luxurious bar and another five before he bought her a drink. Within ten minutes, his face creased into a smile of genuine amusement, he knew he had struck gold. Applying himself to his latest find, the latter half of the evening proved to be strenuous enough to ensure that all thoughts of Doyle were easily banished. Which was why, lying in his comfortable, king-sized bed, pleasantly tired from his hours of driving, the day's tuition and the attentions he had lavished on the bubbly brunette soundlessly asleep next to him, Bodie was aggrieved to discover his inability to sleep. Never having suffered from insomnia, he had no intention of starting now.

He abandoned his quest for sleep before he reached the stage of desperation where he began to count sheep and turned on his back, heaving a disgruntled sigh at the unfairness of life. He could sleep anywhere, any time, although his preference had always been for sharing a comfortable bed with an accommodating body. Recently his only bed-mate had been Ray.

Absently toying with the serpentine coils of Diane's dark hair, Bodie frowned out into the darkness, his post-coital content overtaken by tension. For all his avoidance of self-analysis, never a healthy preoccupation in his line of work, he was inevitably honest with himself, if belatedly so on occasion. It had been easy enough to convince himself that his acute awareness of and need to exploit Doyle's sexuality was some shockingly sudden development, something to be explained away as no more than a perverse reaction to having been raped. Be convenient if it happened to be true. Unfortunately, events of this evening, much as he had enjoyed them, had given that glib, comfortable fallacy the lie. Everything had been perfect except for one unconsidered detail - the body he had set out to learn with an almost desperate haste had been the wrong body. Wrong bloody sex come to that, he thought with morose disbelief.

It was disconcerting to find your life had turned inside out before you realised any change was underway. Bodie did not like change, experience having taught him it was rarely for the better. Still trying to convince himself that this particular change was no more than a passing aberration on his part, he irritably turned on to his side, gave the pillow a vicious thump and closed his eyes.

oOo

Waking to find the room still in darkness, it was a moment before Bodie could place where he was. Then he blinked, relaxed and gave the breast next to his nose a friendly nuzzle, grinning when Diane wriggled away irritably, hauling more than her fair share of the bedclothes with her. Despite the central heating, the rush of cool air on his sleep-warmed body was a shock.

Retrieving some of the covers Bodie snuggled under them, taking advantage of the additional space he had been given. The dream that had woken him had been so vivid he would swear he had woken to the sound of the telephone. Although why he should dream that Doyle, covered in oil and those disreputable overalls of his, should be ringing him to ask him to come over to help fix the last wheel nut on that bloody bike of his was beyond him. Devoid of any symbolism he could think of, it seemed so real because it was so prosaic. But if the dream had been reality he would have gone to Ray's place, dropping whatever other plans he might have made for the evening. It wouldn't be the first time he'd jettisoned a date when Ray had rung him with some suggestion for an evening's entertainment. Given how many hours they worked together, it was amazing how much of their free time they ended up spending together - and not just on double dates.

Dreaming about Doyle was no novelty, it was the inclusion of the bike that puzzled him. Ray was never going to get that back into one piece, never mind on the road again. It had littered up every garage he'd ever owned. If you totalled up what he must have spent on tools, spare parts and buying up old wrecks to cannibalize them, he had spent enough to buy himself something decent - and new. Not that it seemed to bother Doyle, who claimed there was more satisfaction in doing it the hard way. Maybe there was at that. Tinkering with the bike was certainly a more acceptable form of therapy from the tensions of their job than basket weaving.

Only then did Bodie appreciate that his own relaxation came from watching Doyle's nimble, oil-stained fingers at work and from the desultory chats over shared cans of beer before they went out for the evening. Hours they had spent like that. Odd he should remember them now. Perhaps because they hadn't done that for a while, since Ray and Ann had split up in fact. Evenings spent unwinding with a mate had been yet another thing about Ray that Ann hadn't cared enough to try and understand.

In fact now he thought about it, he hadn't been seeing much of Ray at all off-duty, the omission none of his doing. Given that Ray had admitted he hadn't been dating, what the hell had he been doing with himself? He'd found enough excuses to skip the double dates suggested to him, only occasionally meeting up in the pub for a drink and game of darts. The way things had been going anyone would think Ray didn't enjoy his company.

Bodie dismissed that idea. They had been mates for far too long. Besides, if Ray was pissed off about something, he wasn't reticent about voicing his grievance. Bodie was conscious of a deep, abiding ache, only now acknowledging its cause, he was missing Ray, even though it had only been three days. It had been a rotten thing to do, running out on him while he was stuck in hospital.

Still, perhaps they would get the bike roadworthy one day. It was about time Ray started work on it again. There was no rush, Bodie reminded himself, comfortably drowsy now, his mind full of images of Doyle. They had plenty of time to do whatever they wanted.

He tucked his arm over a rounded haunch and drifted back to sleep, smiling faintly.

oOo

Listening, perforce, to the off-key singing drifting through to him from the adjoining bathroom, Bodie winced and pulled a resigned face, wondering why the towel he was using to dry his hair wasn't doing a better job of blocking out the sound. Diane had almost everything going for her except her voice, he admitted sadly. In fact she was so bad she made Doyle sound positively tuneful.

Satisfied that his hair was dry enough to avoid the risk of it curling, he tossed the towel on the bed and, padding naked across the room, peered expectantly into the open wardrobe, unable to remember what clothes he had packed. He had been in such a rush to get away he had simply grabbed the first things that came to hand; so far the system seemed to have worked. Rummaging along the hangers, he resisted the temptation to wonder what Doyle would be doing. It wouldn't be much. Poor sod, the highlight of his day was probably wondering whether he would be allowed to go to the bog on his own two feet. Still, that call, ostensibly from Mr Doyle senior, had elicited the information that Ray was doing fine. Well, 'making satisfactory progress' was fine, wasn't it?

Daft to have rung, if anything was wrong Cowley would have notified him. With a bit of luck Doyle would never find out. The Almoner wasn't likely to mention it, not after the story he'd spun her. Just as well. Hearing that he had had a call from his long dead and unmourned parent was more likely to give Ray a relapse. But the hospital had been a bit free with their information, Bodie mused critically. It might be as well to have a word with Cowley about that when he got back.

As he fastened his trousers, Bodie’s hands stilled on the fastening as he ruefully conceded what was wrong with his holiday. Nothing complicated, just the fact Ray wasn't here to share it. He was missing the irritating little sod something rotten.

Perhaps it was only to be expected, he and Ray had been living in each other's pockets for too long. It couldn't be a good thing, not if it meant you ended up doing things like turning round to share a joke, only to meet a heavily made-up face and dry up, the joke still-born. It was pathetic. Anyone would think he couldn't exist without Doyle around. It wasn't as if they always worked together, or never had any kind of social life away from each other.

Just all the best times - and the worst, sharing the good, bad and indifferent.

Oh shit.

He had been lucky to meet up with Diane on his first night, luckier that she was unattached and determined to stay that way until she had finished her training and got that job she was after in the States. She would get it too. After five days in her company Bodie was beginning to find her distinctly hard work. Not that it mattered. It wouldn't be long before he was on his way back to London and she would be no more than a distant memory. He was under no illusions that he meant anything more to her than a pleasurable holiday interlude, but for the first time in his life he regretted the lack of emotional involvement - not because of Diane herself, just an abstract sadness for the loneliness of it all. She knew as little about him as he knew about her and neither of them were interested in discovering more.

She had magic hands though, he reminded himself with a reminiscent gleam as he shrugged into a black silk shirt and out of his melancholy mood.

Busy transferring his wallet and car keys to the white jacket he was proposing to wear that evening a familiar, elusive fragrance made him spin round on hearing the door open. The wide, welcoming smile which lit his face froze for a split second, his pulse already slowing when he saw it was only Diane emerging from the bathroom, not the door to their hotel room and certainly not Doyle come visiting.

With Ray stuck in hospital it wasn't likely to be him. Fighting a wave of disappointment, Bodie finally admitted that he hadn't shaken off his feelings of guilt at abandoning Doyle. Not that he could have done much except drop in at visiting hours. Still.

"Is anything wrong?" asked Diane as she sat in front of the dressing table mirror. Her apricot micro-briefs offered little but a distraction.

"Why?" asked Bodie a shade defensively, only now giving her his full attention.

"Nothing, just that you were looking very grim all of a sudden." She glanced down at the watch she was not wearing. "We're not late, are we?"

"What? No," Bodie confirmed quickly, his expression relaxing as he watched her mirrored breasts tauten as she reached up to unpin the ponytail perched high on her head. His enjoyment increased ten-fold when she vigorously began to brush her unbound stream of hair.

He nudged her along the stool to balance precariously next to her and gave an appreciative sniff, followed by a mournful sigh. "I can't help thinking it's a waste going out when we could be - "

He caught sight of her expression and grinned in capitulation. "It was just an idea," he conceded, nuzzling the soft skin behind her ears.

"Later." Her tone firm, she leant forward to select a pair of earrings for the evening. "And you can stop looking so pathetic," she added tartly as she noticed his mirrored expression. "Anyone would think I'd forced you into this. It was your idea that we go to this concert."

"Don't remind me," he said with gloom.

Resigned, Bodie watched her begin to apply her foundation, a process which he had never found attractive. Bored and knowing she wouldn't be ready for at least another forty minutes, he sifted a finger idly through the contents of her make-up bag, marvelling on how much she had felt it necessary to bring with her. He applied some eye-shadow to the back of his hand and stared at the result with surprise. Funny, it had looked all right on Diane.

A heavy sigh wafted down his ear.

"All right, all right, it'll be a great evening. There's nothing I enjoy more than a classical concert," he added mendaciously. He only hoped the programme would include some of the stuff Doyle insisted on playing; he was used to those tunes and knew how long they went on for.

"It will be. Bodie, will you stop fiddling with my make-up. Stop fiddling with it," she amended, realising the rhetorical question had been a mistake. "It won't suit you."

Bodie eyed his hand thoughtfully. "Oh, I dunno. It could bring out the blue of my eyes." Rising to his feet, he licked the gold gloss from his hand, pulling a face at the taste. When he gave a lazy stretch the silk of his shirt tightened across his chest, delivering an elusive caress to his nipples. "You fancy a drink while you're getting ready?"

"Vodka and bitter lemon, if there's any left. I won't be much longer," she promised, all her concentration given to her left eyelid.

"Right," he murmured, but the irony slipped past her.

Lying on the bed, sipping his drink, Bodie resigned himself to at least another half an hour's wait, his mind drifting off on its own inexorable course as he absently stared at her slim back.

Eventually, after applying a final cloud of perfume, Diane was almost ready. In a mood of sunny resignation, Bodie was prepared to concede it had been worth the wait. Picking up his jacket he struggled to pull it on; it was tight across the shoulders and biceps and carried a faint scent of aftershave and the man to whom the jacket belonged. It didn't take a genius to see what must have happened. The mistake was easily explained, he and Doyle owned similar jackets, packing in a hurry he had forgotten that they kept clothes stashed at each other's flats. While Doyle favoured the baggy look in the few cloth jackets he owned, Bodie couldn't pretend this one was anything but tight. He had no intention of changing out of it, comfortable with all the familiar scents which meant _home_ to him. Rummaging through the pockets, he smoothed out crumpled dry cleaning tickets and slips of paper bearing scrawled, cryptic messages and carefully replaced everything where he had found it.

Diane glanced up. "That jacket's a bit tight, isn't it?"

"I know. I must have been doing too many Mr Universe exercises," explained Bodie airily. Taking her arm, the evening seem lit with a sudden promise as he went out in his borrowed finery.

oOo

"My partner, Ray Doyle's, got the same system." Bodie remembered the evening when Doyle had conned him into helping to set up the speakers of the astronomically expensive stereo system he had bought.

"Partner? I thought you sat behind a desk all day, pushing pens and rearranging paperclips."

"Most of the time, but we do get sent out on the occasional job together. Partners in crime, if you like."

"Better than being stuck indoors for eight or nine hours at a stretch," Diane said with feeling, before she hauled herself onto the tiled edge of the pool. "What's he like then, this partner of yours?" Squeezing water from the ends of her hair and wishing she had thought wear a cap, she realised she had found the right button to press.

After three of Bodie's carefully edited stories of disasters he had shared with his partner she was left helpless with laughter and a somewhat distorted picture of Ray Doyle.

"No one can be that dim," she protested.

"The poor lad hasn't got any choice in the matter."

oOo

His day was such that it was two hours before Cowley remembered he had been due to see Doyle at six p.m., prior to the younger man going on sick leave. His meeting finally over, the muscles of his bad leg cramping after long, unproductive hours of sitting behind his desk, Cowley was in no mood to have any more of his time wasted as he ushered the last immaculately suited figure from his office, his smile flicking off as soon as the Home Office officials entered the lift.

Stalking back to his secretary's office, he found additional cause for displeasure. Having worked a twelve hour day, Betty had gone home. She had left Kirsty, her deputy, to take over from her - a dubious blessing in Cowley's opinion. He had caught Kirsty flirting with agents too often to have much confidence in her discretion. Eyeing the stack of telephone messages awaiting him, his expression further soured when Kirsty pointed to where Ray Doyle sat slumped on a straight-backed chair. Unobtrusively asleep, his head was propped against the side of one of the filing cabinets.

Cowley studied him for a moment, then looked at Kirstie. "Is he fit to be out?" he demanded with irritable concern, while he scanned the list of messages.

Kirstie gave the rumpled figure in the corner of the room a motherly smile. "He was only discharged from hospital at three p.m. He's been waiting to see you for hours."

There was a hint of censure in her voice which Cowley ignored. "Has he been giving you much trouble while he's been here?" he asked, expecting the worst.

"None at all. He was asleep when I took over," said Kirstie with an audible trace of regret.

The office door banged exuberantly open. "There you are, sir!"

Bouncing into the room with what Cowley considered to be a regrettable amount of vigour, Benny was four sentences into his stride when he became aware that he didn't have Cowley's complete attention. Turning, he followed the direction of the older man's gaze.

"Blimey, Ray, you look worse than Marley's Ghost. Are you sure it was only your appendix they yanked out?" he asked by way of greeting.

"Up yours," retorted Doyle, mid-yawn. He slowly bent to retrieve the brown envelope which had slid from his lap.

"If you two have finished your exchange of pleasantries," said Cowley. He was tired and hungry, wanting only to go home and unwind in front of the fire with a glass of whisky. "Can't this wait until morning?"

Benny shook his head. "We need your authorization for - "

"Come into my office. You can have five minutes, no more. Doyle, I'll see you immediately afterwards, if you think you can stay awake that long?"

Not noticeably subdued, Benny loped after Cowley, talking valuably. Only Kirstie noticed the lack of response from a normally acid-tongued Ray Doyle.

 

"What's this?" asked Cowley. He eyed the envelope Doyle set on his desk with all the enthusiasm of a man staring at a dog turd.

"My resignation," said Doyle with a flat lack of emphasis. "Signed, dated and effective from today's date."

"I see." Opening the envelope, Cowley gave the two line note a cursory glance. "It's a pity your reports aren't this concise."

"There's nothing complicated about resigning," said Doyle, knowing that to be far from the truth.

Cowley made no effort to contradict him, watching silently as the pile of objects being placed on his desk steadily mounted. When a front door key and car keys were placed neatly beside the rest he sat back in his chair, and stared at Doyle.

"Why?" He gestured to the pile.

"Because I don't want to work for CI5 any more," said Doyle in the same pseudo-reasonable tone he had used since entering Cowley's office.

"And?" prompted Cowley, unimpressed by that line of argument.

Doyle shrugged. "I've had enough of risking my neck for a pittance. It's been a while since I've had any time to myself. Time to think, to get things in perspective. This is the only life I've got, I'd like to live long enough to enjoy it. So I'm taking a job as a small arms instructor at a gun club owned by the mate of a mate."

It wasn't a complete lie. The job had been offered to him a couple of years ago and a vacancy could probably be found for him, if he pushed for it. There was no rush. He had enough savings to live on for a few weeks. Right now, all he wanted was to get this over with. Then he would worry about mundane details like the rest of his life.

"Oh, these are only the spare keys to the flat and car," added Doyle. "I'd like to keep them until Tuesday. My brother will store my stuff until I've found myself a flat and a car."

"That's not a problem," said Cowley. "Take longer, if you need it. You've been busy for someone who was only discharged from hospital this afternoon. You've been many things to this squad, including one of its major assets. This is the first time I can remember you lying to me - except about the size of your expenses," he added, under no illusions. There wasn't an agent on his squad who didn't consider those fair game.

"No, there have been two or three occasions you never picked up on," Doyle told him.

Cowley mentally filed away that information, resolving to raise the matter at a later date. "Why not take your leave and give yourself some time to think things through? If you're still of the same mind, you can resign then."

"I appreciate the thought, sir, but I've had all the time I need to realise what I want from life." Doyle got to his feet, wanting to be gone before he had time to change his mind - or rather to have it changed for him. He knew Cowley too well. Conversely, Cowley knew him, knew exactly which strings to pull. He paused in front of the desk for a moment, searching for the right words.

"You've taught me a lot in the time I've been with CI5. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have worked for. Thank you." The knowledge of what he was giving up only just sinking in, he headed for the door before his resolve could fail him.

It was that awkward speech that convinced Cowley Doyle was serious about leaving. "What about Bodie?" he asked. He located the security button under the lip of his desk that the squad had installed over and above his protests and pressed it once.

Doyle paused but did not turn back to him. He had been expecting this line of attack, it was obvious one by anyone's standards. "I presume he'll be allocated a new partner. While he works well solo he isn't temperamentally suited to it in the long term."

"I quite agree. Who would you suggest I partner him with?" Cowley added conversationally.

Doyle wheeled around, having discovered that he couldn't, after all, discuss Bodie's future dispassionately. "That's your concern, not mine."

The assertion lacked conviction, even to himself. He hadn't had much practice about not thinking about Bodie. That would come later. Cowley wouldn't take kindly to one of his agents bawling their eyes out in his office. Bloody hospital. He was weak as a kitten.

"True," said Cowley. "What does Bodie have to say about being left high and dry by his partner?"

"I don't know, I haven't told him yet. I'll leave him a letter." Doyle had himself under control again.

Satisfied by the dent he had made in Doyle's armour, Cowley said, "It hasn't occurred to you that he might prefer to hear the news in person?"

"Oh, it occurred to me. But as I haven't seen him since he left this office to have his medical that hasn't been possible."

He hadn't received so much as a message. After three days of silence from Bodie his pride had crumbled and he had checked - more than once - with the nursing staff. He had even tried ringing Bodie at his flat, learning through Control that Bodie was on leave and staying at a sports centre up in Scotland. It was difficult to see that he could have got any farther away. Message received and understood. The only thing left for him to do was to make the break a clean one. The easiest way to do that was for one of them to leave CI5. He would find it easier to make a new life than Bodie so he must be the one to go. Still, there was no point kidding himself, his resignation owed far more to cowardice than to altruism.

He didn't know how to face Bodie's contempt. There, he'd admitted it.

Unable to bear it any longer, Doyle made to leave Cowley's office. Opening the door, he found himself staring up the necessary few inches into Murphy's face, his own expression hardening as he attempted to pass the other agent.

"Come off it, Ray," said Murphy placidly, correctly interpreting the look Cowley gave him. He made no attempt to move out of the way.

Doyle stared through the taller man before his inimical expression relaxed. The manipulative old bugger never knew when to give up.

"You've been watching too many films, Murph. Relax. I'm going back inside to sort this out with Cowley. The next time I open this door I don't want to find you outside it, clear? Or I might do something we'll both be sorry for later."

He closed the door in Murphy's face before he could reply and turned back into the room, his hands in his jacket pockets. "I concede that my leaving will be inconvenient but no one's indispensable. CI5 will manage without me. Are you planning to come out with the 'I own you' crap now, or are you going to save that until later?" he added in the mild tone of one prepared to humour an eccentric. With a trace of surprise, having been braced for a barrage of cogent arguments convincingly put, he noticed the faint smile twitching Cowley's mouth.

"I'll save it," replied Cowley, his tone equally mild. Rising from behind his desk, he drew on his top coat and paused at Doyle's side. "Well don't just stand there making the place look untidy. Come on."

Despite himself, the habit of obedience was too ingrained for Doyle to be capable of resisting and he opened the door, allowed Cowley to go first, switched off the light and followed him. "Where are we going?" he asked with suspicion.

Waving Murphy aside with a nod of thanks, Cowley pulled on his gloves and started to walk down the stairs. "You're taking your ex-employer out to dinner," he said over his shoulder, as if surprised that there should be any doubt.

Doyle blinked. Victory. It had been that easy. He really wasn't indispensable. Remembering to smile because, after all, this was what he had wanted, he sighed. "I might have guessed I would be paying. Where as I taking you?"

"My club," said Cowley, nodding to the security guard as he swept past.

Doyle tapped his arm to gain his attention then gestured down at himself. "Will they let me in while I'm dressed like this?"

Cowley paused at the outside door to give the too-thin, too-pale figure one all-encompassing look. "They're probably used to you by now," he said with truth. "Besides, you'll be with me." He fished out his car keys. "Go and open up the car, there's a message I meant to leave with Kirstie. I'll be driving," he added tartly.

Resigned, Doyle took the keys.

oOo

"Well, all I can say is that I'm glad I don't have to drive in London with you two maniacs on the roads. I bet you're as bad as he is," Diane added indulgently. "Still, it sounds like fun. I knew the Civil Service couldn't be all bad. Have you known him long?"

Bodie stared up at her, seeing a very different face. Blinking out of sheer necessity, he refocused on dark, water-slick hair and dimples and was conscious of a crashing disappointment.

"Sometimes it seems like forever," he said, trying to recover his lost flippancy. It took some effort of will to change the subject. He hadn't appreciated how long he'd been talking about Ray. And that he didn't want to stop.

Of all the bloody stupid times to realise you'd gone and done it, he thought with disgust. Stuck with a clinging bird and over three hundred miles away from the one person you wanted to be with. But he felt no great surprise at the realisation, just very, very happy. The feelings had crept up on him so slowly he had been submerged in them before he knew what was happening. It was probably just as well, he would have run a mile. Only now he could see that their week of enforced intimacy at the cottage hadn't changed anything, all it had done was speed up the inevitable. Life was a more satisfactory affair when Ray was around to share it. He wanted that sharing to extend to every facet of his life, not just bed and board - although right now going to bed with Ray was high on his list of priorities. There were a few things to work out before then, he reminded himself.

Bodie began to review Doyle's behaviour. It occurred to him that his feelings might not be as one-sided as he had feared. He would find out when he got back to London. Three days from now.

The wait would kill him.

He tried to convince himself there was no hurry. Ray would still be there when he got back, not least because he had only been out of hospital for a few days. He could take his time, pick his moment one evening to edge the conversation around to the tricky subject of feelings, so he could subtly establish that he wasn't just seeing what he wanted to see in Doyle's radically altered behaviour.

Knowing a sudden doubt, Bodie sat up. What if this _was_ one-sided, leaving him alone and palely loitering? What if he said something and buggered up the most important friendship he had ever known?

Time to stop panicking, he told himself briskly.There was more, he’d just been too thick to see what was in front of his nose. Ray, the poor sod, was either more scared than he was, or he hadn't twigged yet.

The more he thought about it, the more certain Bodie became, life taking on a glorious simplicity. Caught on a euphoric wave of contentment, serenely certain of his future now, he left the bed and began to pack. His concentration total, he managed to forget Diane's very existence. When he was reminded of it in no uncertain terms, he offered her an absent, unconsciously irritating smile. Within forty-five minutes he had cut short his holiday and was on his way back down to London, driving through the night to get there and humming most of the way.


	5. Chapter 5

His arms wrapped protectively around the two bulging carrier bags he was carrying balanced against his chest, it took Doyle some time to extricate his front door key from his the back pocket of his jeans and even longer to let himself into the flat, the smell of which betrayed its newly decorated state. In the event he made it into the kitchen before the over-burdened plastic bags tore open.

He scooped up a trail of fallen carrots, dumping them on the work surface, together with the rest of the shopping. Looking clinically tidy, the kitchen betrayed few signs that he had been in occupation for three days. The other rooms were equally stark, Doyle having made no attempt to impose his personality on the place. There seemed little point when he would be in occupation for only three months.

Cowley, the devious old bastard, had won again. Three months sodding notice. Not that Cowley had insisted on him working out the period of his notice, of course. It was just that by the time Cowley had delivered his pep talk, Doyle had been so tired he would have agreed to anything. He only appreciated what he had done when he heard himself volunteering to serve out the three month period. The speed with which Cowley had returned the keys to his flat and car had made retraction impossible.

His frown easing into a reluctant, admiring grin, Doyle conceded he had been suckered by a pro. To his surprise, he had enjoyed his dinner with Cowley, whose dry asides about some of the other club members present had verged on the libellous. Besides, Cowley blithely shrugging aside three months salary in lieu of notice as a matter of no consequence was a turn up for the books. He must remember to share that little gem with Bodie, he would...

Shit.

Maybe not. Not until he had found some nice convincing explanation for his decision to resign. One Bodie could pretend to believe.

Doyle knew it still hadn't sunk in that he was voluntarily sundering his life from Bodie's. The idea was unthinkable, so he avoided thinking about it because in three months time it would be over. All the good times soured because he couldn't keep his mouth shut when it had mattered most.

Worry about that later, he told himself drearily as he shrugged out of his sleet-wet jacket and wandered into the living room, having no clear idea of what he would do with the rest of the day. He had no excuse for doing nothing, the hospital shakes had worn off, his legs feeling as though they belonged to him again. He could even stand up straight without expecting to find his guts spread around his feet.

He should start to get himself fit, not drooping around the place. He stared at the untouched boxes waiting to be unpacked that took up the bulk of the floor space. Of all the stupid times to have moved flats, especially when he would only be in occupation for three months. But Cowley had been adamant about the move, pointing out that the security of his old flat had been compromised the moment Davis had put them under surveillance. Despite the fact that the men involved were probably all dead Cowley was disinclined to take any chances. There was still no sign of Cooper's whereabouts, nor any record of an ex-mercenary bearing that name.

Instinctively Doyle shied away from the memories, latching gratefully on to the realisation that Bodie would have been moved too. He would have hated that. No one enjoyed the constant moves made necessary for security purposes, but Bodie loathed them. Odd that, considering how rootless he had been for most of his adult life. Or maybe that was why he hated them. Perhaps he had reached the stage where he wanted roots, stability and permanence.

Don't go there. Don't start building up those cosy little fantasies again. It's never going to happen.

Prowling aimlessly around the room again, he kicked out at one of the boxes in passing. There was no point in unpacking them, no point in doing anything it seemed. Strewth, this was ridiculous. He’d be having a weep next.

It was dismally near the truth, the days since he had left the hospital having done nothing to reduce his depression. Doyle knew he should take the opportunity to get away from London and have a holiday - anything that would stop him moping around like a lost dog. He would have done it if he had been able to shake off the stubborn hope that Bodie might decide to give him a ring.

He hadn't even gone out in case Bodie should ring - or not until today, when he'd finished the last of the coffee. Moping around the flat like a lovesick teenager. It was pathetic, more maudlin than love-sick. Even worse to acknowledge he had reached the stage where the arrival of a postcard from Scotland would have made his day. Best not to think about yesterday at all. Talk about going over the top. After two wrong numbers and a call from Gabrielle he had taken the receiver off the hook.

He'd had that phone number for four years but in how many flats? Too bloody many. Too many girls, too, variety becoming something he couldn’t avoid rather than a matter of choice. And while the cause had something to do with the exigencies of the job, it had far more to do with his own nature. Which ever way he looked at it the only real constant in his life was - had been - Bodie. And he'd fucked that all up by himself, snatching greedily at something which, in time, might have been freely offered.

His face set and bleak, Doyle stared blindly out of the window. Who was he kidding? Bodie wasn't his lover and was never likely to be. He could - almost - accept that. It was the loss of everything else that hurt so much.

In hospital he had clung fiercely to the hope that he had imagined Bodie's withdrawal, that once back at work he would be able to push his new needs into the background and carry on as before. Then he had discovered that Bodie had retreated up to Scotland and he'd felt so bloody abandoned. His decision to resign had been made before he had even thrown off the effects of the anaesthetic, nothing happening after that to make him want to reverse that decision.

Embarrassed to think about that pathetic period of his life, Doyle heaved a sigh of disgust. All those theatrics, resigning while subconsciously waiting for Cowley to tell him he was indispensable and refuse to let him go. The other scenario - his favourite, truth be told - was that Bodie would somehow find out about what he had done and rush down to London and sweep him off his feet.

Only Cowley hadn't and he wasn't, not to anyone it would seem.

The nights had been the worst of it. During the day there had been little time to practice anything but his perfect patient role. The nights had been a sleepless cavalcade spent listening to all the noises of the hospital and city outside, only glad he wasn't in a general ward. Then he had been discharged, his nights and days his own again. And he had done nothing with them, his mind caught on a treadmill of ifs and maybes. It had been too easy, warm and half-asleep to lie thinking about Bodie, memory fuelling his hungry fantasy.

Sweet dreams indeed.

Except he had been desperate enough to imagine that the slow, deft fingers on his touch-starved flesh were Bodie's, coming so fast and so wild, his eyes scrunched to a close as he cried out Bodie's name.

Oh yeah, it had been sweet enough, until his lax, sticky fingers had slipped away and he opened his eyes to find himself alone.

Staring blankly around the living room, Doyle tried to relax, his erect cock doing most of his thinking for him. Be turning into a bloody flasher next, he thought with gloom, just before he gave a snort of self-derision.

He launched himself from the support of the window sill and sought distraction by switching on the stereo but the absence of sound reminded him that his record collection was safely packed away. Resisting the temptation to put his fist through the wall, he poured himself a drink but put the glass down after only one sip. Getting drunk wasn't the answer, as he had discovered the night before last.

Salvation came with the discovery of a tape in the cassette deck. The sound of Led Zeppelin flooded the room, bouncing off the walls, filling his brain: _Whole Lotta Love_. Maybe, but not right this minute, and not for him. He ejected the tape and tried to remember why he had bought it in the first place.

In the silence that followed he stood staring at the floor. A moment later, defeat conceded, he was all activity, opening the first box. Taking a deep breath, he crouched down beside it and began to unpack, piling possessions on the floor all around him.

He would go back into headquarters to see Cowley early tomorrow, before the shift change was due, and withdraw his notice. Then he'd get away for the rest of his sick leave, have a break. Crazy to think resigning would solve a thing.

Besides, the worst was already over. The meeting he had both longed for and dreaded had taken place earlier today, in the corridor leading away from the armoury. He had bumped into Bodie, both of them clutching new ID's, credit cards and a stack of forms. And the great climatic encounter of his imagination had spluttered like a damp squib before hope had flickered and gone out.

Everything had been so normal, except for the fact they hadn't exchanged a single word that mattered. Doyle's surprised delight had been quenched when he realised that but for this chance encounter he would never have known Bodie was back in London. It reinforced how far apart they had become with the brutality of a knee in the balls.

Not that it had taken away the pleasure of the moment. It had been too bloody good to see Bodie again, conversation between them effortless once more - a casual glossing over of his peritonitis and near collision with the Pearly Gates, Bodie's absence and reappearance taken for granted. After one sharp double-take Bodie, who had been radiating good-health and good-humour, had steered him into the rest room for an unwanted coffee, waxing enthusiastic about his holiday and the girl - Diane? - he had spent it with.

Not that he begrudged Bodie that. He wasn't the possessive sort. Correction, he never had been. Disconcerting to find his careering mind full of images of Bodie with this unknown girl, giving it all away. Doyle had been on enough double dates to know Bodie was a generous lover. Jealousy knotting both tongue and gut, Doyle couldn't remember much about his own contribution to the conversation. Awkward and self-conscious, he had felt like a would-be rapist. Knowing his unease was caused only by his fear of doing anything that would bring stark revulsion back to Bodie's face did nothing to help reduce it.

Sod it, Doyle told himself impatiently. Things would work out given time. There was no point going over the top about it.

Determined not to spend another night in an empty bed, he was reaching for the telephone to try and arrange an evening with Gabrielle when the front door bell rang.

 

Doyle's new address memorised and the A to Z open on the front seat next to him, Bodie concentrated on his driving rather than speculating on the reception he could expect to receive, always supposing Ray would be home.

He had driving down from Scotland in a state of exuberant anticipation at the thought of seeing Doyle again. It had all seemed so simple, his passage in life lit with an unthought of security, his own happy state blinding him to any possible obstacles. Quite how they were to achieve mutual understanding and unwedded bliss Bodie hadn't considered, confident that somehow he wouldn't have to say anything.

He had arrived in London at seven in the morning, after stopping for a substantial breakfast at a service station. He had gone straight to Doyle's flat. His first set-back came when he discovered Doyle was no longer in occupation, having been moved while he was in hospital. Swearing under his breath for having forgotten that obvious detail, Bodie went into headquarters to ask - nonchalantly - as to Doyle's whereabouts. And, by way of an afterthought, his own.

Approximately four minutes later he had been captured by Cowley. Short-staffed thanks to two court cases having been moved up the hearing list, with the consequent loss to the squad of the six agents required to give evidence, Cowley had immediately curtailed the remainder of Bodie's leave and left him with a mound of background reading to be done for a meeting that afternoon. The moment he re-entered the familiar dingy surroundings of CI5 niggling doubts had begun to erode Bodie's confidence, to the point where he gave in to Cowley's demands on his time with no more than a token protest.

His previous optimism about his rosy future with Doyle coming to seem childishly simplistic as the morning dwindled by, Bodie resolved to carry on as normal until he could be certain he had not imagined the slurred avowal Doyle had made while they shared a bed, entwined as innocent as small children.

Becoming more nervous by the minute, he had not been prepared to meet a large-eyed wraith in the corridor just before lunch. That first sight of Doyle completed his realisation that the course of true love might not run according to his own undefined but utopian schedule.

Over the years he had come to realise how tough Doyle was, swiftly discovering how rare it was for anyone to succeed in putting Ray down with any degree of permanence. And that strength wasn't just physical, a quick burst of temperament and Doyle bounced back, uncrushable as a flea - albeit one who had a tendency to go on lengthy guilt trips. There had been occasions when Bodie had wondered just how genuine they were, particularly when he was enveloped in one of Doyle's depressions. The comforting possibility that they were just a theatrical reaction had been destroyed within two minutes of meeting Doyle.

The man who said, "Oh, hello. I didn't expect to see you for a while yet," was a muted stranger devoid of vitality. Doyle's brief, impersonal smile had given nothing away.

Bodie had been braced for vibrant, cleansing anger, or the rough, searching edge of Doyle's tongue. Instead, he had received a composed smile and the kind of small-talk strangers exchanged, Ray offering nothing that could remotely be construed as any kind of query. As always, Doyle's mental state had been betrayed by his appearance. He had looked terrible, gaunt and listless, his abundant hair had been collapsed limply around a too-pale face.

Alert behind his smiling exterior as it occurred to him that peritonitis might be more serious than he had assumed, Bodie had watched Doyle's performance, concentrating on him as never before. He soon realised where the blame lay, his gut slithering into a hard, sick knot when he noticed that Doyle was taking inordinate care to steer each of his attempts at personal conversation back to the trivial. That continued evasion told him just how much his previous withdrawal and subsequent desertion must have hurt Ray. It was going to take more than some glib apology to put it right.

Withdrawal was a technique Bodie had used in the past to protect himself from emotional involvement and possible hurt, only now did he appreciate the pain such an exclusion could bring. Intent on closing the chasm between them, wanting to make amends in whatever manner Doyle would accept, Bodie had been increasingly frustrated to discover his inability to breach the self-possessed wall the other man had erected around himself. It had been impossible to try and explain his own confused state of mind, either in the busy corridor or the half-full rest room, where everyone seemed intent on interrupting their conversation to ask after both of them. So he had babbled on, he had no idea what about, watching Doyle's downbent face and finding it increasingly difficult to remember he didn’t have the right to reach out to smooth away the physical betrayal of tension evident there.

Despite the fact he was already an hour late for a meeting he was supposed to have had with Cowley, Bodie had remained in the rest room with Doyle, afraid to do anything which might smack of a further rejection. Noticing the flurry of activity around them, Doyle had eventually made the break himself, pleading the excuse of things to do.

Cowley had been disinclined to be understanding about Bodie's tardiness, or his less-than-expert knowledge of the internal security arrangements of the large chemical company who had asked for their help. His mind on Doyle, Bodie had let Cowley's lecture wash over him. Eventually freed, he had wasted little time in trying to track down Doyle, determined to go and see him at the first opportunity. It was painfully obvious that any talking was going to have to be done by him. Deciding to worry about that when the time came, Bodie had exerted all his considerable charm on the new administration clerk. Full of zeal after only two weeks working for CI5, she had taken some convincing that the man in front of her was indeed Ray Doyle's partner, old mate, and therefore someone to be entrusted with details of his whereabouts. Bodie clung to his patience and the information he finally obtained.

Scrambling through the initial meeting with A.N.G.'s Managing Director, he became aware that while having made his point he had succeeded in offending almost everyone present. Leaving the meeting as soon as he could, the same single-minded determination had brought him to this elegant block of flats and up two flights of stairs at top speed. He hadn't dared to pause to wonder what he would say, let alone what reception he might receive. Now, standing outside Ray's front door, Bodie was battling against an attack of the jitters and it was some time before he could bring himself to ring the front door bell. He scowled in an attempt to hide just how nervous he felt.

Instead of the intercom crackling into life, giving him a few seconds more to seek inspiration, the door was pulled open without warning. He found himself only a few inches away from Doyle, who stood targeted in the doorway. Appalled by Doyle's lack of security consciousness, inevitably the ensuing conversation did not take the course Bodie had tentatively envisaged.

"Of all the bloody stupid stunts to pull!" he said explosively. "If I was the IRA, you'd be dead! You're paid to think about little details like security, so use the bloody intercom. That's what it's there for."

Stiff-legged with tension, the initial bleakness of Doyle's expression was dissolved by a reluctant grin of sheer affection. "Yes, well, if our bright back-room boys had turned up to instal it when they were supposed to, I would have done. Hello to you, too." Having glimpsed the apprehension behind Bodie's belligerence, he could do nothing to disguise the warmth in his own voice.

"Hello, yourself," said Bodie, with would-be casualness, heat scudding through him. He was too far gone to wince at his own ineptitude; it was taking all his time not to drool over the man negligently propped against the door jamb. The fitted pale greeny-grey shirt Ray was wearing was plastered against him like a second skin, nipples thrusting against the thin silk in a highly disconcerting manner. Bodie had never expected to find the sight of a bloke's nipples sexy. He wanted to tease Doyle's so badly it made his teeth ache.

It was a moment before he appreciated that the ache might be due to the fact he was clenching his jaw. He tried to relax tightened muscles and stuck his cold hands deeper into the pockets of his parka, in case he gave in to the temptation to touch.

Doyle nodded in what could be interpreted as encouragement but made no attempt to speak.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Bodie asked warily, listening intently for any sound of life beyond the man blocking the doorway with his body. There wasn't even any music.

"Only me unpacking," said Doyle casually, but there was nothing casual in the expression in his eyes.

Bodie absorbed the news in a thoughtful silence. Doyle usually got himself settled within hours of being moved, surprisingly efficient about the whole business. He knew better than to ask what Doyle had been doing since he had been released from hospital and made a noncommittal sound. Inexplicably reassured by Doyle's vacuity, he propped himself against the opposite door jamb, determined to wait for as long as it took.

Absently rubbing a bare forearm, trying to account for Bodie's untypical lack of ease, Doyle gave him a thoughtful look from beneath his lashes. "It's not like you to worry about a small detail like interrupting me. I sometimes used to wonder if you timed some of your visits on purpose."

"Course I did," said Bodie, offended that there should be any doubting his motives. "You mind telling me why, if you haven't got anything better waiting for you indoors, we're standing out here freezing to death, when we could be snug indoors?" While the landing was markedly warmer than the raw weather outside, there were still myriad draughts eddying around. It occurred to Bodie that the cool air was probably the reason Doyle's nipples were straining tautly against the raw silk of his shirt.

Caught in Bodie's heavy-lidded gaze, Doyle shivered, then rubbed his forearms. "Because I'm half-asleep, that's why," he said weakly. "You'd better come in then. Wipe your feet first. Let me guess what brought you over - you're hungry, right?" Leaving it to Bodie to lock up, the query floated down the hall behind him as Doyle padded into the living room.

Only then did Bodie realise he had missed out on lunch in his preoccupation with the man in front of him. "How did you guess?"

"It wasn't hard," replied Doyle tolerantly, "you always turn up at my place expecting to be fed when you've nothing better to do. It's my fault for weaning you away from takeaway to the delights of home cooking. I made a rod for my own back by being such a good cook. If I'd had any sense I would have taught you, not fed you."

"You still can," said Bodie.

Doyle's head shot up but he let the invitation pass, certain he was reading into it only what he needed to hear.

Bodie took off his parka. "How come you always get the modern flats?" he demanded as he took in his surroundings. But his intent gaze insisted on straying back to Doyle, who stood fidgeting with a record sleeve.

"Got another Victorian horror story, have you?" All spurious sympathy, Doyle sank on to the sofa.

"Complete with a marble fireplace," confirmed Bodie with gloom. "Dark green and red, it is. Like putrid liver. And so big that all I need is the ox to put in it."

Doyle winced. "I sometimes wonder what must be on your personal file, some of the places accommodation dig up for you." Without making a production of it, he watched as Bodie set about making himself at home. He was busy inspecting the books waiting to be re-shelved for anything he might want to borrow. "They're supposed to take our tastes into account when they're allocating our refuge from the storm. Maybe they just got confused with your eating habits."

Bodie usually had large, spacious flats with high-ceilinged rooms in neutral colours; uncluttered, clean and elegant of line, until he decorated the walls with a dartboard and soft-porn posters. Though he wouldn't mind a couple of them himself.

Bodie was looking bloody gorgeous, Doyle thought unguardedly, and all while wearing nothing more exciting than his usual cords and polo neck, in black today; strong, clean lines, power and brooding masculinity. And the wanting was strong enough to make him ache. But there was something different about Bodie's appearance and it was a moment or two before Doyle could place what it was. Bodie had had his hair cut since he had seen him last; the severe crop suited him. Dangerously relaxed, Doyle only just stopped himself from commenting on the fact.

Rising effortlessly from where he had been crouching, Bodie turned around, looking very much at his ease. "There's nothing wrong with my eating habits," he said mildly. "And you've seen my file, haven't you?"

"Not the interesting bits I haven't."

Caught by something he didn't understand in Doyle's gaze, Bodie couldn't look away. "You know everything about me that matters."

"I wish that was true," said Doyle unguardedly, before he searched for a way to change the subject. "Do you want a drink or something?"

Blinking at the sudden change of topic, having been on the brink of tumbling into speech, Bodie gathered his patience and gave an equitable nod. "Yeah, coffee - topped up with half a bottle of Scotch. It's horrible outside and it wasn't much better inside after Cowley nobbled me. The last of my leave vanished before I'd had a chance to have so much as a mug of tea."

"That'll teach you to come back off holiday early," said Doyle unsympathetically. "Too keen, that's your trouble." Extending his legs out in front of him he gave a lazy arch and stretch, tension sliding away in this comforting semblance of normality.

The unpremeditated movement drew Bodie's hungry gaze to the magnet of the body under the supple silk; the glide of muscle and press of bone and the benign definition of genitals nestling snug in soft brushed cotton. He discovered he was holding his breath, it was that or salivate. Now definitely wasn't the time to get a hard-on. It was a while before he was in any state to notice that a trainered foot was nudging his own.

"I dunno why you're sitting there with that expectant look on your face. I'd've put money on you having located the kitchen by now. So off you go. Play nicely with the toys. I'll have a coffee with you while you're making one," Doyle added generously.

Wearing a hard-done-by look, Bodie headed off, mumbling the usual insults. There were a few domestic sounds before he reappeared a short time later with a puzzled expression on his face.

"OK, I've found the kitchen. There's just one small problem, Ray."

Stirring, Doyle's head turned, his lazy smile becoming fixed, breath catching as he took in the picture Bodie presented, framed in the doorway. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to fill a kettle?" he managed to croak, hoping he wasn't dribbling with lust. It was ridiculous. He only had to look at Bodie and...

"Very amusing. No, I managed that, after following the instructions in the manual. We've got hot water, the only trouble is, there's nothing to go in it. No tea, coffee, milk, or much of anything else."

"Have you looked?" enquired Doyle with deepest suspicion.

Bodie sighed. "From that carping tone of voice anyone would think I never did anything in a kitchen. Of course I've looked. The cupboard is bare."

"I know you do things in kitchens, it's what that worries me," said Doyle, getting to his feet. "I only went shopping this morning so the stuff can't have gone far. I must have forgotten to unpack. Oy, back here, you," he added, catching hold of his partner's arm as Bodie tried to sidle back into the living room. Doyle released him immediately, self-conscious about even this mundane contact.

"There, I told you." Gesturing to the carrier bags which had been half hidden in a dark corner on the work surface Doyle leant back against the cooker, listening to a familiar threnody while he watched Bodie's deft hands reveal the fruits of his morning's shopping: washing up liquid; three containers of Harpic; two bottles of wine; fruit juice; toilet paper; and two tins of dog food.

Bodie stared at the haul in silence, his stream of complaints having faded away some time ago. "No wonder you're looking so skinny," he said at last. "What the hell are you doing with these?"

Achingly aware of the man at his side, Doyle gave a helpless shrug and gestured weakly in the direction of the waste bin before investigating the contents of the second carrier bag himself.

The combined weight of the carrots and a cauliflower had successfully flattened the grapes, which were dripping off three large grapefruit. He hated grapefruit.

"And what were you doing buying these?" asked Bodie, knowing Doyle's taste in food as well as his own.

Glancing into unwavering blue eyes Doyle found himself unable to look away. Heat flooded his skin, the soft query doing nothing to calm his confusion.

"I dunno," he admitted vaguely. "I must have been thinking about something else while I was in the supermarket."

Of its own accord Bodie's hand rose to cradle the side of the troubled face, the pad of his thumb smoothing across the full, taut mouth in an unthinking caress. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" he asked, with a helpless tenderness.

Self-possession lost, Doyle remained quite still, every sensitised inch of him alive to that gentle caress and the rueful affection in the eyes smiling at him. He could think of nothing to say.

With a soft murmur of contrition Bodie's hand slid down to cup the side of Doyle's neck, drawing them together. His fingertips laced through the heavy curls at the nape of Doyle's neck, his palm resting over an erratic pulse.

"I know I hurt you when I took off the way I did, leaving you in hospital by yourself. I'm not proud of that. I never meant to, but I was too scared to stay. I'm sorry, Ray. So bloody sorry." It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Bodie to seek that cool, compressed mouth with his own.

The kiss was undemanding, awkward at first as he met only unyielding rigidity. Then the knotted fists uncurled, Doyle's lips parting as his hands came to rest on Bodie's flanks. At that tentative response Bodie shivered, the effort not to demand more almost than he could bear, and he drew back a fraction. Only then did Doyle seem to believe the evidence of his every sense. Making an incoherent sound of disbelief, he wrapped himself around the other man, his grip verging on the painful as he plundered the sweetness of Bodie's mouth with a fierce desperation there could be no gainsaying.

For all that, it was he who drew away first, his expression stricken. "Why?" he whispered. "Why did you have to go and do that, Bodie? Look at the state of me." His voice gaining strength, his unsteady hands fell to his sides. Staring at the floor, he shook his head. "You don't know what you're getting into, sunshine."

His lips feeling bruised by the force of need which had met his own so briefly, Bodie leant back against the sink unit, needing some kind of support. But his hands retained their clasp of Doyle's hips, afraid to relinquish the physical contact in case it was never regained.

"You're wrong about that. For the first time in too long I know exactly what I'm doing - and why." It was an effort to keep his voice steady, trying to sound matter of fact as he willed the man opposite him to hear him out. "I could have done with some help on this one, Ray. I've been so slow to catch on. Too gutless, or witless, to remember what it was you said to me that first night up at the cottage, when we shared a bed."

"Remember?" Dazed and uncomprehending, Doyle stared at him.

Bodie resisted the urge to hug him close. "Yeah. It only came back to me when I was rushing down to London to see you, wondering when I was ever going to find the courage to tell you how I felt. You beat me to it, you see. I don't suppose you'll remember. You were stoned out of your skull and only half-awake when you curled yourself around me and said you loved me. Did you mean it, Ray? Say yes."

"I said - ?" Shrugging, Doyle gave a defeated grimace as he found he could not lie. "Yes, I meant it but - " He tried to escape then but found himself held fast.

"But nothing, if you meant it. It's all that matters." Steady-eyed, Bodie's certainty was echoed in his voice.

Unconvinced, Doyle braced himself against the hands urging him closer but it was a moment longer before he trusted his voice. "Don't snow me, Bodie. Blokes - not you at all, is it? Especially not after what Davis did to you." But the expression in Bodie's eyes demanded an honest answer.

"Yes, I want you," Doyle continued, his roughened voice barely steady, "but that will pass. Most things do. Let it rest, mate. While I still can."

"Then I'll have to see what I can do to change that." Bodie gave Doyle a loving smile and brushed with his hand the beautiful definition of Doyle's constricted sex. He drew back when Doyle flinched as if he had been burned, his head bending in an attempt to hide his expression.

"Don't look like that," coaxed Bodie. "It's all right. Don't fight it, not when it's the same for both of us. You and me, it'll be all right, I promise you."

"Yeah, of course it will," agreed Doyle harshly. He twisted away so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. Because there was nowhere else for him to go he stopped with his back to the man watching him with such disconcerting intensity. "So I turn you on," he said with near despair. "That's not going to be enough, you know. Lust burns itself out. Besides, what brought about this sudden change of heart? You're not gay. You can't live without birds and with the best will in the world I couldn't stand knowing you were going from me to someone else. No point pretending I could." His hands moved in a gesture in which hopelessness and grace were mixed. "Listen to me. I didn't mean to come on heavy like this." His dragging inhalation shuddered through the room. "The thing is, I can't handle this any other way. It means too much," he explained to the floor, his declaration made even as he tried to deny it.

Pausing two feet away, resisting the urge to gather Doyle back against him or to insist that a rosy, untroubled future lay ahead of them, Bodie drew a deep, steadying breath. Declarations of intent weren't his line, but then wiry, opinionated, hirsute males never had been either. Times changed, needs too.

And he needed Ray Doyle.

They were far too far down the road to be capable of pretending nothing had changed. They would sort something out because the alternative did not bear thinking about.

"I don't know when everything changed," he said quietly into the silence that had fallen, "but there's nothing sudden about my feelings for you, far from it. As for me not being gay. I fancy you and you're a bloke. I reckon that means I qualify. As for Davis - he's history. Finished with. The bastard hurt you just as much as he did me but we can't let him stop us, now can we? I mean it, Ray. I wouldn't lie to you about this. I'm not saying that realising what I felt for you didn't shake me off balance, which is probably why I panicked so much the morning I woke up wanting you so fierce I could've taken you across the kitchen table."

What he was being told sinking in, Doyle looked around, incredulity almost masking the naked hope in his eyes.

"I forgot you couldn't know that, or why I took off so fast, shutting you out," continued Bodie doggedly. "I was too terrified to stay. All these feelings. More than I've ever felt for anyone, let alone a bloke. I was even scared to touch you, in case I ended up like Davis. I wanted you so much."

Determined to repudiate the stupidity of that worry, Doyle opened his mouth but Bodie never gave him the opportunity to interrupt.

"Yeah, I know. Stupid, wasn't it? A bit like you at the moment. That's how it takes us, I suppose. I got over it in twenty-four hours and started being honest with myself for a change. Like you said, I've never fancied a bloke before. There again, I've never needed anyone the way I need you. And it feels like I've never wanted them so much, either. I can get hard just watching you breathing, so god knows how long I'll last if we try anything more adventurous," he said ruefully, before the smile faded from his eyes. "I wasn't even thinking about you when I took off up to Scotland, just about myself and how scared I was. Still am," he added in the same quiet, matter of fact voice.

Doyle's mouth opened helplessly before he closed it again. He remained frozen to the spot, not quite believing what he was hearing. Not from Bodie

"Since I ran out on you I don't suppose there's been an hour when I haven't found myself thinking about you, missing you. It's not just the fact I want to fuck you legless, though I do," Bodie added, in the tone of one giving a weather report. "It's more than that. Enough to keep me happy for the rest of my days. I swear that's the truth. Don't look at me like that or I'll never finish and I can't guarantee I'll have the guts to say all this again." His knuckles ached from the pressure he was exerting on the lip of the sink unit behind him, but his voice remained as steady as he could manage, willing Doyle to believe him, to hear what was proving so impossible to verbalise.

"I can't tell you the when or why. It didn't happen overnight but during the days and weeks and months of being with you. I remember you telling me it was time I settled down. Ironic that. I was trying to. But all the time I was searching, the person who makes me happiest was right here beside me, prickly as hell, usually in need of a haircut and with a worse beard shadow than mine.

"And I wish you'd at least look at me," Bodie added, only just able to joke about it. "I'm feeling a right berk pouring my heart out to you, wondering what the hell you're going to say. Unless you were so stoned that night you would have said the same thing to Cowley?"

His eyes huge and brilliant, Doyle was glaring at him. "You _love_ me?"

"Oh strewth. Haven't I just spent the last ten minutes telling you that! Of course I bloody well love you. Who couldn't?"

"You stupid sod," Doyle whispered incredulously, fury and love inextricably mixed in his face, having had to clear his throat twice before he could speak at all. "Do you mean to tell me you went belting up to Scotland, wasting days we could've spent together, when all the time - ?"

Allowing the husky diatribe to wash over him, Bodie concentrated on the blazing happiness in Doyle's eyes, perceptive enough to realise that, freed from days of strain, Doyle's pent up emotions needed some release. His gaze never leaving the face so very close to his own, studying the mis-matched features as though he had never seen them before, Bodie discovered something else he had never appreciated.

"You're beautiful," he announced into the tirade, sounding both surprised and sentimental.

Disconcerted, Doyle ground to a halt. "You what? Bodie, have you been listening to a single word I've said?"

"Not really. I've been too busy trying to work out what it is about you that makes you so special," Bodie interrupted him to explain, his preoccupation an obvious matter as far as he was concerned.

Doyle stalked towards him, pausing only when their bodies were so close that he shared Bodie's body heat. Inhaling all the familiar scents, he was lost. "You witless bugger," he whispered savagely, his voice shaking as he caught Bodie in a hard, assertive embrace that jammed them up against the sink unit.

But for all his seeming ferocity, it was Doyle's eyes that were damp and he who rubbed his cheek over and over against Bodie's, as if only by the sense of touch could he assure himself this was real.

"I missed you, so bloody much," he mumbled finally, his mouth gentle now.

Not quite able to comprehend the totality of the surrender offered to him, Bodie did nothing that might break the spell, revelling in every touch. But the slide and rub and scent of Ray Doyle all around him became too much, the mouth nuzzling behind his ear sending tiny tremors of pleasure lancing down his body. Every glide and thrust made passivity a problem that restrictive clothing and his cramped position did little to resolve.

"Hey, Ray?" His voice thickened by emotion and muffled by the floppy brown hair his mouth was buried in, Bodie tugged imperiously until the bent head lifted. "Carry on like this and I'm liable to come all over you."

His eyes drugged, his face suffused with a rosy sexual heat, Doyle nodded with slow assurance. "I know. Be nice that. Do it now. Do whatever you want."

Sliding his thigh between Bodie's he thrust gently forward, his splayed fingers cradling Bodie's buttocks to mould them groin to groin, creating a sweet friction for their already over-sensitised flesh. His arms locking at the wrist around the other man's rib cage, his hands hanging heavy and lax in the small of the strong back, he began a nuzzling exploration of the tender skin of Bodie's temple.

"Come on, Bodie. Whatever you want. _Anything_. The kitchen table's behind us."

Hearing himself being offered everything in those slurred sentences, Bodie nodded wordlessly, propelling Doyle back to the suggested support. Shaking fingers were already busy at his waistband, his own hands burrowing beneath brushed cotton to meet the shock of immediately naked flesh.

 _Yesss_.

Muttering impatiently at the delay, his polo neck was finally yanked over his head without actually strangling him, while he fumbled to slide down too tight cords. Doyle's shirt hung free from his shoulders, his jeans unfastened, one trainer and sock already gone.

Making an impatient sound in the back of his throat, Bodie could wait no longer. His hands clamped around Doyle's head, holding it steady, his lips and tongue fiercely demanding. As their responses deepened, his weight bore them down, while Doyle's hands tightening over him. Every sense alight, Bodie ground against the arched urgency of Ray Doyle who, grace lost, was fumbling to complete this union, everything relegated to that blind imperative.

As a powerful thigh hooked around him Bodie belatedly recognised that they were wearing too many clothes. Fucking things. Hungry for the sensation of bare skin to bare skin, his hands were clumsy and awkward as he fumbled and pulled, dragging at uncooperative cloth; hearing fragile stitching rip, he froze, shivering with the effort it took not to move. One touch would finish him.

This close to the edge he'd tear into Doyle like an express train and Ray was too far gone to recognise the danger. Drawing a shuddering breath, his eyes hazed, his mouth pouting and heavy, Bodie stared down into his lover's flushed face, the sprawled arch of the half-naked body beneath him where Doyle was bent back over the kitchen table. The high-arching cock weeping, balls tight, Doyle was a sight to make Bodie's mouth water, the beat of his pulse throbbing through him. He took another shaky inhalation.

No express trains, not for Ray.

His breath catching, his balls aching, Bodie resolutely set about disentangling them, then he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

"Where're you - ?" Doyle followed him with an inarticulate protest.

A wry look overtaking his frustration, Bodie's hands slid down in a chaste restraint, his nose wrinkling with deceptive casualness. "Bed'll be more comfortable," he suggested, his voice less than steady. "Why not leave the table till we've had a bit more practise, eh? We're so randy we'll probably fall off and bend something important."

One hand buried in the silky, damp warmth of an armpit, his other, open-palmed in the velvet hollow of Bodie's spine, Doyle just nodded. His mouth nudged Bodie's, coaxing and reassuring in one. "Bed it is," he agreed vaguely, ready to agree to anything if it meant he could hold and touch and taste and...

The force of Bodie's bear-hug expelling what little breath he had left, Doyle gave a protesting grunt somewhere in the region of Bodie's left ear but he had relaxed, soothed by the circling caresses of the square-tipped fingers stroking the length of his spine. Doyle gave a soft sigh, content to remain against the warm press of Bodie for as long as his partner wanted. His pulse slowing, urgency diminishing, he licked dreamily at the salty hollow of a collar bone, doubts and worries suspended in a limbo away from this world of physical sensation. Entwined with Bodie, revelling in the press of the other man's erection against him, he made no attempt to move, unwilling to relinquish contact for the amount of time it would take to get into the bedroom.

"Hey, Ray, you can't go to sleep on me now, sunshine. Not unless you want to see a grown man cry." Recognising Doyle's drugged expression as he coaxed the other man's head up, Bodie divined his dilemma with no difficulty at all. Delivering what had been intended as a brief kiss, he broke free of the embrace before they could start all over again.

"Bed," he said firmly. A look of grim determination on his face, he set about hitching pale green brush cotton trousers back up over narrow hips. His mouth watering as he stared at Doyle's beautiful cock, he abandoned all thought of attempting to fasten the trousers and belatedly attended to his own clothing, which thanks to Doyle's seemingly absent-minded rear-guard action were sinking groundwards.

"In a minute," Bodie promised.

Capturing a wandering hand, he linked their fingers together, then urged Doyle to move. Somehow he succeeded in steering them through the living room, across the hall and into the bedroom. The only thing he saw there was Doyle's king-sized bed. Halfway across the room he made the mistake of turning. The mixture of open longing and hunger he saw in Doyle's face was his undoing.

Any plans they might have had for this first time together were forgotten the moment they touched, any strangeness lost to desire. Mouth to mouth, feeding from one another, they were as clumsy as drunks, intoxicated by the scent, taste and sensation of each other. But they weren't inept, there was too much feeling between them for that to be possible.

An incoherent sound escaped Doyle the first time his hand settled around Bodie's erect cock. By that time Bodie was making incoherent sounds of his own, too close to the edge to be capable of anything approaching rational thought.

They came within seconds of one another, welded together by sweat, semen and a tangle of emotions so complex that they had yet to appreciate their full extent.

 

At first the only sounds were of sleet hitting the window-pane and ragged breathing. There was a rustle, a murmured protest and considerable upheaval before two bony elbows landed on the edge of the mattress. Doyle sank back onto his haunches and peered at the pristine neatness of his unrumpled bed, then back down to the dishevelled mess that was his usually sartorially elegant Bodie. The replete satisfaction he saw in the slit-eyed face made him smile as he licked absently at a damp spot on his hand.

"You were right all along," he told Bodie, "the bed would have been more comfortable."

Sprawled across the carpet in a tangle of half-removed clothing, only some of which was his own, Bodie nodded wisely. "Look on the bright side we would have fallen off the table for sure." Replete and content, he couldn't remember exactly what had happened, recent events a little blurred. Unperturbed by the speed with which desire had overtaken them, he rubbed lazily at the drying semen splattered on his own skin before he propped himself against the foot of the bed, leaning his head back to stare up at Doyle.

"You look so smug it's disgusting," he told Doyle severely. "Stop showing off. The only reason you made it to your knees is because you're holding on to the mattress. Come back down here and hold me instead."

Doyle appeared to consider the command. "I might as well," he conceded, in the tone of one who has nothing better to do. Relinquishing his hold of the bed he slid down to collapse next to and half on his luckless mate, recovering enough energy to find with his own the mouth which already seemed remarkably familiar.

"Mmn. You," he told Bodie fondly, "have had plenty of practice at snogging."

"I must've known it would come in handy," agreed Bodie, his lips feeling heavy and swollen with love. His hand absently drifted up and down a soft-downed forearm; accustoming himself to the unexpected, wiry strength of it, he smiled.

Under that caressing gaze Doyle lost what little ability to think that remained to him. Slowly rallying, he gradually became aware of something amiss in his companion's appearance. Wriggling free of Bodie's embrace, he leant forward and gravely peeled off Bodie's remaining sock before sliding the tangle of cords and briefs free from the ankle they were tangled around and tossing them away.

"We should have thought of that before," he remarked by way of explanation, when Bodie raised a querying eyebrow at his actions.

"I can't think what we were doing instead," agreed Bodie, giving him a confiding nudge. "The truth is, I didn't like to mention it before."

"You wouldn't recognise the truth if it got up and bit you on the arse," Doyle told him lovingly. One leg laced between Bodie's raised thighs, his arm slung around the wide shoulders, he lay propped against Bodie, frankly drifting.

Toying with a damp brown curl, reliving the silken brush of it against him, one small sensation amidst so many, Bodie brushed a curl away from Doyle's closing eyes. "I never realised how soft your hair was - or what you use it for."

Doyle grinned. "Only to be expected. There's not that much scoop when we're working. You'll learn," he added comfortably, blinking himself back into wakefulness. "Are you all right?" he thought to ask. It was a conventional query he knew to be out of place; Bodie was quite clearly more than _all right_.

The soft sound of Bodie's amusement gusted through his hair. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose." His knuckles brushed Doyle's jaw line, nudging his chin. "How about you?"

"I'm terrific." Replete and very, very happy, the word stretched out. Staggered by their sparkling conversational abilities to date, Doyle saw the amusement crinkling Bodie's eyes, his own soft, throaty chuckle rippling through the man at his side. "It was a bit rushed though. We'll have to see if we can't slow things down a bit next time," he remarked thoughtfully. Reaching up and back he tugged, dragging the duvet off the bed and over their interlaced bodies. "I almost left you behind."

Bodie gave a slow, secret smile. "Not a chance, my son." He defied anyone not to be swept away by the joyous fervour Doyle had offered. For his own part, lost in the wild, hot press of Ray Doyle, his climax had been clumsy, ecstatic and over far too soon. His cock twitched with the memory. "Practice, that's all you need. You'll soon be up to my standard," he added encouragingly. He pushed away the duvet, teeth tugging gently at a tiny nipple, feeling the shiver of response in the muscle beneath his cheek.

"I'll work as hard as I can," Doyle promised, solemnly. His fingers tried and failed to gain any purchase in the short cropped hair. "Wish you hadn't cut it," he added with a trace of wistfulness. "I fancy you with long hair."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Meeting the look of large-eyed confidence Bodie had no difficulty in recognising the tender melting in his gut and barely stopped himself from making rash promises he knew he would regret. "Think I'm going to grow it just for you, do you?"

He waited until Doyle nodded.

"Not a chance," he said in his firmest tone.

A bony knee nudged his in a confiding way. "Not even for me?" queried Doyle winsomely, batting his eyelashes.

His mouth quirking, Bodie shook his head.

"That's what I thought," admitted Doyle, philosophical in defeat. This time he managed to tug a short strand of hair. "Miserable bugger. Anyway, it suits you short. Of course, it suits you long, too. In fact I'll probably still fancy you when you're bald."

"We are talking about my head here, aren't we?"

Doyle grinned. "I hope so."

"You haven't overdone things, have you? Is this OK?" Bodie asked. He traced a careful fingertip over the tiny, still-livid scar where Doyle's appendix had been. "It's not giving you any trouble?"

"I hardly know it's there unless I knock it or something." Doyle peered downwards. "I hadn't realise it was this small."

Bodie's response was predictable. "Never you mind, mate. It's what you do with it that counts." He ducked the punch that floated past his ear.

"Daft sod." Doyle's ensuing yawn was muffled against the curve of Bodie's biceps. Recovering, his tongue swathed a small expanse of skin before he sank his teeth, with great care and emphasis, into his lover.

"Very oral, aren't you?" Bodie remarked placidly, not without hope. He wondered how he could ever have thought the colour of Doyle's eyes cool.

"Anything you want." His cheek settled against Bodie's shoulder, Doyle's breath scudded down Bodie's neck. "The only thing is - any practising I do is going to have to wait a bit. I've shot my bolt for tonight."

"I expect I'll learn to be grateful for small mercies," conceded Bodie in a hard-done-by tone. He saw the crease in Doyle's cheek deepen as he failed to suppress a grin. But his eyelids were drooping to a close again, every muscle relaxed and heavy against Bodie, nothing feigned about his fatigue.

Bodie gave him a gentle prod. "You really are knackered, aren't you?" he murmured, enchanted by this suddenly defenceless Doyle delivered into his care.

"Mmm. Nah, not that tired." The long lashes wavered, then lifted, Doyle prepared to stay awake for as long as Bodie should need him. The future seemed to have been mapped out for them without even the need to confirm it with speech but there was still a small doubting part of his brain that insisted this couldn't be real, that he would wake up to find it had all been another dream.

"No? Pull the other one, sunshine. Come on. If you're planning to fall asleep on me let's move to somewhere warmer, it's freezing down here. There's a hell of a draft coming from somewhere. I'm not used to having lovers fall asleep on me," Bodie added in mock complaint.

Sleepy as he was, Doyle revived enough to correct that fallacy. "No?" All sympathy, he patted Bodie's chest. "You probably just never noticed," he cooed, before he allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, draped around Bodie and deposited on the bed.

"Have you not been sleeping or something?"

Alerted by the new note in Bodie's voice, Doyle's closing eyes snapped open. Propping himself up on to one elbow he prepared to offer a comforting lie and deny the dragging sense of loss and misery which had plagued his attempts to rest. The look of understanding on Bodie's face changed his mind; they had gone beyond the need for the social lie, through the door into uncharted territory.

"Not much, no," Doyle conceded wryly. "I was too busy missing you and feeling sorry for myself. I'm sorry, mate. It's lousy timing crashing out on you like this."

"True, but it's not as if we're in any rush to try out the whole repertoire tonight. Tomorrow will do. Come on," Bodie added gently, "lift your arse. You'll be a lot more comfortable in bed than on it. No forethought, that's your trouble."

Doyle gave a drowsy smile of great sweetness and obediently did as he was told. Snuggling his cheek deeper into the pillow he felt the duvet being tucked around him. "Maybe not," he mumbled belatedly, already half asleep, "but it's the foreplay that slays 'em." Drifting with the sounds of movement around the room he was jolted into wakefulness when he heard the sound of an opening door.

" _Bodie_!"

Startled, Bodie turned and pulled and incredulous face when he realised what lay behind that reaction. "You daft bugger," he said roughly. "I need to take a leak, that's all. I'll be back in a minute." But he had already returned to the bed. Crouching down beside it, he brushed Doyle's cheek with the tip of his finger. "Where else am I going to go, eh? Gone and fallen in love, haven't I," he said with wry amusement. He found himself caught fast before he was released again.

His expression pugnacious in an attempt to deny the melting tenderness of their embrace, Doyle gave a ferocious sniff. "It took you long enough," he said gruffly. "Don't go falling down the plug."

But Bodie carried the memory of the blinding smile offered to him to the bathroom and back, sliding into bed to find himself close held. "Satisfied?" he whispered. He was absurdly moved when Doyle just snuggled tighter into his embrace with an inarticulate mumble and fell asleep approximately three seconds later, his warm breath damp against Bodie's neck.

 

Startled awake, the dream already fading, Doyle relaxed upon opening his eyes and finding himself five inches away from a rose-brown nipple, his arm flung across a flat belly and his legs entwined with Bodie's. Blanket coverage, he thought, sleepily amused, before he began to snuffle Bodie's scent.

Wanting to touch and to taste but uncertain as to the time, he restricted himself and concentrated upon all the small points of contact they shared. The hand heavy in the small of his spine tensed infinitesimally.

"Did I wake you up?" he murmured into the darkness.

"I haven't been asleep," Bodie told him, amused.

"Oh." The duvet stirred as Doyle moved. "What have you been doing then?"

"Enjoying holding you," said Bodie with truth, the darkness making it easy to say. A gentle hand rubbed his neck.

"What time is it?" asked Doyle, feeling Bodie's cock stir against him.

"I dunno. Hang on."

The hand in the small of Doyle's spine left him for a brief moment. "Quarter to two." Bodie's hand slid back under the warmth of the duvet to find Doyle's accommodating flesh, stroking down the knobs of his spinal column before it caressed the rise of his buttocks.

Wriggling until he lay stretched against Bodie's length Doyle gave a huge yawn and rubbed his nose on the nearest portion of Bodie. "Mmm, that's nice. What time did I flake out on you?" It was clear he was now fully awake.

"About half eight. You snore."

"You'll get used to it. I didn't even feed you," Doyle added absently. He eased himself over his companion, matching their bodies before he began to move in a gentle sliding response to the stroking hand caressing his parted buttocks.

"There were compensations," said Bodie, distracted by the leisurely rocking Doyle had initiated, the exquisite sensations travelling from his questing fingertip to groin. All concentration focussed on his gently rubbing fingertip as he grazed the tight pucker of flesh, pressing against it, Bodie felt it offer admittance. Abruptly he was encompassed in heat, Doyle pressing back to meet him with a soft, incoherent whimper before, his weight taken on his elbows, he bent, his mouth parting.

"Anything. Anything you want," he whispered.

"This will do me," said Bodie with truth, before he made that delectable mouth his own again.

The gathering built within him, a leisurely climb that gained impetus with each languid thrust and arch and the sweet friction their bodies were creating. The peak achieved, the drift into climax was effortless, his soft cry smothered in tangled curls as his release pulsed smoothly between their joined bodies. Enchanted by the tiny sounds Doyle made as he came in his turn Bodie cradled him carefully, their loving as relaxed and effortless as the gentle stroking that had begun it.

His heart beat slowing, Bodie rubbed his sweat-damp cheek against rasping stubble. "Was beautiful, that. All right to put the light on?" he added as Doyle slid from him to curl at his side, his breathing still ragged.

"Hmm. Why?"

"So I can see you better, that's why."

Turning back from switching on the light, Bodie found himself caught in an unblinking gaze. He only just stopped himself from fidgeting.

Doyle ran a finger down his cheek. "You're going pink."

"So would you be if I looked at you like that. Pack it in. I'll end up with a nervous tic."

With a choke of laughter Doyle hugged him close. Rolling onto his back, he took Bodie's weight upon himself, his tight-locked arms preventing the other man from moving. "Come on, you're not that heavy - really." His steady gaze was broken as his eyes crinkled with a sudden amusement. "You always did get ratty when anyone pays you a compliment. It's not my fault you're gorgeous." His palm rubbed a broad shoulder before sliding to investigate familiar, yet wonderfully new contours.

Relaxing, Bodie gave a languid stretch. "Yeah. I know. Ray, will you pack it in, mate." Half-laughing, half-embarrassed despite himself, he buried his face under Doyle's chin. "You're making me nervous."

"You'll get used to it," Doyle told him unsympathetically, his hands circling downwards to cup Bodie's buttocks. "I've never been finger fucked before. It's beautiful. Feels - "

The movement between Bodie's buttocks became more definite and a soft, inarticulate growl escaped him. His head lifting, clouding blue eyes were hidden by his eyelids as he absorbed the sensations being offered to him, the pad of Doyle's saliva moistened finger grazing him again. The infinitesimal pressure increased, then relaxed before increasing again, Ray sinking into him, tight-held within him, moving now...

He gave a shuddering sigh, gathering breath and concentration. "Oh. Yeah. Don't stop. You up to this?"

Doyle's free hand wiped moisture off his temples, traced an uneven eyebrow. "Nah, it'll take me a while yet before I catch up. You carry on. Whatever feels good," he coaxed, awed by the expression of luxurious anguish it was within his power to produce.

Sinking down before rising back up to meet the touch that was slowly destroying him, Bodie sighed and shook his head.

"Too lonely by myself."

"Not by yourself. Let me, Bodie, let me do this for you. Yeah. Let it happen. Go with it. That's the way. Come on, lover, harder. Yeah, that's it. Harder. With me all the way. Yeah."

And the husky accompaniment of Doyle's voice swept him away before bringing him safely home again.

 

The next time they awoke it was just before dawn.

"Have you got to work today?" Doyle asked, his voice roughened by sleep.

An appalled blue eye opened. "Oh shit. Yes." The outside world loomed, threatening his boneless contentment.

"It's all right, go back to sleep. It's still early. I'll wake you in time. What's Cowley got you working on? He hasn't made the mistake of trying to team you up with someone else again?"

Bodie rolled on to his back and smiled up at the ceiling. "Not a chance. I'm on paper work. The internal security of A.N.G. now they've got that government contract." He pulled a wry face. "I've got to go down there today and sort out their security people. Boring."

"Safe though," said Doyle contentedly. "You take things carefully till I'm back with you."

"Yeah, yeah. No sweat."

Doyle's fingers laced in Bodie's hair where it was longest, turning his head so he could glare into Bodie's face. "I said _take things carefully_. I know you, bloody bull in a china shop."

Bodie blinked, then sighed, conceding the justification of the remark. "I thought love was meant to be short-sighted. I'll be careful."

Tension leaving him as he searched the face only inches from his own, Doyle nodded, satisfied that the casually made promise would be kept. "That's more like it."

"Dictatorial little bastard," said Bodie without rancour, feeling very cared for, cherished. "We can - Shit. How much longer are you going to be off work?"

Doyle pulled a face. "Eight days."

"Cowley gave you all that sick-leave voluntarily? That's what comes of collapsing in his office." Bodie's proprietorial gaze swept over the sharp-boned frame before his expression softened. "Still, I can see why he did it. You looked like death warmed over yesterday."

A smile in his eyes, Doyle's head turned on the pillow. "And today?"

Bodie gave him a pat of approval. "It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do."

"So they tell me. We must try it some time."

Bodie tweaked absently at the soft body hair decorating Doyle's chest. "I'm going to miss you today," he confided sentimentally.

"No you're not," contradicted Doyle as the idea occurred to him, "because I'm coming with you."

"You're on sick-leave."

There was a surge of movement as Doyle sat up. "Do I look sick to you?" he demanded.

There was something in the face leaning over him that Bodie could never remember seeing before, an inner serenity, as though some lifelong need had been fulfilled.

"No, not now," he said, going under for the final time and smiling at the knowledge.

Doyle gave him an approving smile, the look on Bodie's face enough for him. "So?"

Weakening, Bodie poked thin-fleshed ribs. "You'll take it easy? Do no more than stay in the car once we get down there?"

"I promise," said Doyle promptly, his expression one of wide-eyed candour.

"Mmm. I bet you were never a boy scout. All right, you've talked me into it. Cowley'll kill me if he finds out," Bodie added, resigned to his fate.

"No he won't," contradicted Doyle with supreme assurance, "because we aren't going to tell him. What he doesn't know..."

In no mood to look for flaws in his companion's genius, that simplistic solution appealed to Bodie no end. In the frame of mind to believe virtually anything Doyle told him, he let the matter drop.

"What the hell are you thinking about now?" he asked curiously, seeing Doyle's abstraction. With faint misgivings he took in Doyle's crooked grin. "Come on," he said warily. "What is it?"

"Would you settle for a sonnet to your smile?"

Bodie thought about it, briefly. "I'd settle for it, just doesn't seem very in character somehow. Come on what was that broody, introspective little look about?"

"It's nothing romantic," Doyle warned him.

"I'd probably pass out with shock if it was," said Bodie forthrightly. "Not your style, is it?"

Doyle studied the unperturbed profile for a moment. "I dunno, it wouldn't be that difficult at the moment." His finger touched the corner of Bodie's mouth in a fleeting caress. "No. It's just that for the first time in bloody days I'm starving and all we've got out in the kitchen is grapefruit."

"And Harpic," reminded Bodie helpfully.

Doyle bit him, very gently, on the ear. "I wish we had longer to ourselves before we had to start work."

"I thought you said it wasn't time to get up yet."

"Relax, it isn't. It's only half five."

"You're a monster," said Bodie with feeling. "As for having time to ourselves, we can spare a morning or two. When you think about it, we've got the rest of our lives."

"I've been thinking," said Doyle, busy pleating the sheet between his fingers.

"Always a good sign," encouraged Bodie, but behind the flippancy he was obviously nervous.

"You do want us to live together?"

One glance at Doyle's face told Bodie the other man was quite serious. "Prat. Of course I do. Though I haven't come up with a way for us to swing it without telling Cowley. Which isn't top of my priorities."

"I can't think why. Where's your new flat?"

"Park Village East."

Doyle nodded wisely but had to cave in and admit defeat a few seconds later. "Where's that?"

"Near Regent's Park. The zoo entrance end."

"Blimey, that's a bit posh."

"That's what I thought. But it's even smaller than this place."

"What we need," said Doyle decisively, "is a two bedroom flat."

"Why? We only need one bedroom."

"I know that and you know that. Do you want to tell Cowley we're lovers?"

"Oh." Light dawning, Bodie gave him an approving pat. "Good thinking."

"It comes naturally to me," Doyle allowed modestly, just before he took the other man in a bone-cracking hug. "I love you," he muttered in a near incomprehensible rush.

"That's nice. But that isn't enough to convince me to be the one to break it to Cowley," said Bodie, before he pursed his lips. "He could go for us sharing. I mean, no one thought anything of it when Susan and Julia moved in together last year." His eyes narrowed in speculation. "D’you suppose...?"

"Could be," mused Doyle. "They both turned down the chance of a date with me."

"Me, too. Though I suppose that doesn't automatically make them gay," said Bodie, trying to be fair. "Hang on, you told me that you and Julia - "

"I lied. The same way you did about Susan," Doyle reminded him.

"Well, yeah," conceded Bodie, tucking an arm around his seemingly boneless companion.

"It's all right. It won't be happening again," said Doyle matter of factly.

Bodie peered down at the face tucked into the curve of his shoulder. "What won't?"

"Me lying to you. Me sleeping with anyone else, come to that."

"I took that for granted," Bodie admitted wryly as he kissed the tangled hair.

"Blimey, one night together and he's taking me for granted," sighed Doyle, giving a theatrical sigh.

"You know what I meant," said Bodie with confidence.

Doyle nodded. "'Course," he said with scorn. "You got any doubts about this?" he gestured between them.

"About a million. Mainly variations on the theme of whether I'll be able to make you happy. But not about the general principle of us. Seems like I was looking for this without ever knowing it. Though I suppose everyone wants to settle down some time. I just never met a bird I could imagine being able to do that with."

Tucking a proprietorial arm over his companion, Doyle licked the smooth, soft skin just below Bodie's armpit. "Nor me. Right, now we've got that sorted we'd better get our heads down if we're working later. What time do we have to leave?"

"Seven thirty should be fine."

Doyle duly set the alarm, decided not to push his luck by opening a window on such a cold night and hurried back to bed and the warmth of his lover's arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Meticulous about not taking anything for granted, they spent alternate nights at each other's flats without ever realising they were doing so. Given that their possessions were evenly spread between the two establishments, it was hardly surprising.

"Oy, Sleeping Beauty! Come on, mate, you'll be late for work."

That final called proving no more successful than his earlier attempts, Doyle padded into the bedroom and leant over his drowsy partner. Unsuspecting, he nuzzled the back of Bodie's neck and found himself caught fast when Bodie turned to hug him close with a toothpaste-scented exuberance that betrayed the extent of his wakeful state.

"That's cheating," said Doyle severely when his mouth was his own again and he was sprawled over a naked Bodie.

"I know," said Bodie with complacent smugness, his hands busy under the towelling robe that had been fastened when Doyle leant over him. "I thought I'd give you a surprise."

Doyle gave a responsive twitch as a callused hand pulled encouragingly on his cock. "Oh, is that what that's called?"

But he couldn't resist capturing Bodie's face between his palms and kissing him with all his usual attention to detail, luxuriating in the taste of peppermint-flavoured Bodie.

"It's no good you starting anything," Doyle warned belatedly. "You'll be late for work again and George will not be amused. You can't have two punctures in four days."

"Fuck Cowley," said Bodie, with the casualness of a man who knows his suggestion will never have to be put into practice.

"No thanks, I'm much happier with you." Doyle leant up on his elbow. "Bodie, will you stop doing that, there isn't time and..."

The complaint never more than half-hearted, his voice trailed away as he stared into guileless blue eyes. A soft gusting sigh escaped him as Bodie's thumb drifted casually down the cleft of his parted buttocks, and back again, a finger dipping in to graze the curled bud of muscle, rubbing him there in gentle persuasion.

"No?" queried Bodie, with lazy confidence.

Doyle shivered in surrender, his face dropping into the hollow of Bodie's neck.

"Does that mean yes?" enquired Bodie, surprised by how easy their bodies were together.

"That's not fair," grumbled Doyle half-heartedly. "You can talk me into anything."

Moving unhurriedly in turn, he thrust gently upwards to greet the pad of Bodie's finger, sinking down into lush, up-thrusting hardness, his breathing increasing in tempo with the relaxed rhythm they were creating.

"Really? Oh. Then how," continued Bodie, with exquisite timing, "do you feel about using lubricants?"

The sweet friction of their rocking bodies having slid away coherent thought, Doyle stopped licking Bodie's nipples long enough to glance down at him, his expression one of rapt concentration on every tiny sensation they were sharing.

"I never had much call to use them," he replied absently, managing to slide a questing hand beneath Bodie, who had decided to cooperate. "Anyway, with the right technique there was never any..."

His lecture faded and died as what Bodie was proposing sank in. Stilling, Doyle looked up and saw the same longing on Bodie's face, together with a betraying amusement.

"Well?" Bodie prompted, watching the mutable eyes haze with lust. He waved a small blue and white tube under Doyle's nose.

"Fuck Cowley," Doyle agreed huskily, his parted mouth descending to meet Bodie's with a fierce urgency.

"Well, come on," he commanded, some time later. "Stick some of that lubricant where it'll actually be of some use and fuck me."

So Bodie did, first slow and easy, then fast and strong.

Doyle came with a yell so loud they probably heard him in Battersea, while Bodie was all silent concentration, his sweat-damp face alight with triumph, as if no one had ever made love in such a way before.

It was just gone nine in the morning before he thought to call in sick, blaming his malaise on a curry he had eaten the night before.

"Even I wouldn't fall for an excuse that lame," said Doyle critically, one hand absently running up and down Bodie's strong back.

"Me neither, but I think the Old Man's so relieved that we're obviously on speaking terms again that he let me get away with it. I'll go in this afternoon. Now would be the perfect time to try and wangle that two-bedroom flat."

"I'll come with you," said Doyle, in the tone of one prepared to do his bit.

"Best not. Unless you want the whole world to know about us?"

"You could have a point." Doyle fidgeted, his expression pensive.

"You are all right?" Bodie checked. He pulled an abashed face at the look that earned him. "Just checking."

"I'm terrific. Just a bit more conscious of my arse than usual, that's all. I can see why anal sex has been so popular all these years," Doyle conceded. "I'd always wondered what it was like. I hated the thought I might be missing out."

That thought was so in character that Bodie had to grin before his expression sobered. "It was that good?"

"Stop fishing for compliments. You were moderately brilliant."

"I think most of the credit should go to your prostate, mate. I know you're an invalid but when do you reckon you'll be ready for round two? I want to find out what I'm missing."

Doyle went very still, Davis' rape of Bodie not a subject he felt capable of raising with Bodie. Not at this point in their relationship, where everything, including his own sexual orientation was shifting. With a sinking feeling inside it occurred to him that if he didn't say anything they risked running into all kinds of problems.

"You don't have to," he said quietly.

"Eh?" Bodie blinked.

"You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable doing," said Doyle doggedly.

"You mean the whips and chains have to stay under the bed? That's a blow. Can I have a translation here because I don't have a clue what you're talking about? Oh." Comprehension dawning, Bodie shook his head, but his smile was affectionate, no trace of awkwardness in his manner.

"You don't seriously think that you fucking me will have any resemblance to Davis' style of romance, do you? Get real, Ray. The guy terrified me just by breathing. And he beat me and he humiliated me and he raped me." Bodie looked away then, unable to sustain Doyle's gaze. After a moment or two he found the courage to look up again because this needed saying if they weren't going to run into problems later. Apart from all the usual problems any couple faced, that was. "But Davis is dead and we're alive and there's no way that sick bastard could ever touch what we have. All right?

"Very," said Doyle, but the expression in his eyes said more.

oOo

"Hello," said Doyle as he emerged from the bathroom, "I didn't hear you come in."

"That's because I'm a trained agent whose skills have been honed to a razor-sharp perfection," explained Bodie.

"And nothing to do with the fact I was under the shower, singing at the top of my voice. How did it go with Cowley?" Doyle added with a patently false nonchalance.

Bodie's grin broadened. Seconds later he was laughing helplessly.

Drying his hair with a small towel and grinning himself, although he had no idea at what, Doyle waited with unusual patience for Bodie to gain a semblance of control.

"Sorry," gasped Bodie, his eyes bright with laughter. "It's just that he obviously hadn't believed my story of Delhi-belly. Then I walked in and he got quite...solicitous. For Cowley. He said I looked peaky."

Doyle gave a richly-lewd chuckle. "The way you've been giving it some welly, I'm not surprised. I'm taking it out of you."

"Yeah," agreed Bodie, his expression full of lustful speculation.

"Later," Doyle said firmly. "So what did he say about us sharing a new flat?"

"That it was a pity we couldn't have thought of it before we were allocated our present places. And that, as it happened, there was a two-bedroom flat we could move into as soon as we like. The removal people will be here tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow! Where's the rush?" enquired Doyle.

Bodie looked rueful. "I wanted to make sure you wouldn't change your mind," he admitted.

"No chance of that, mate. You're stuck with me," said Doyle, before he took steps to offer more concrete proof of his affections.

 

"I won't be the only one looking peaky at this rate," mused Bodie, staring up at the cobweb on the ceiling while running his fingertips through the hair on Doyle's chest. "This can't be the recommended form of recuperation for an invalid."

"Maybe it should be," said Doyle drowsily, his fingers linked with Bodie's free hand, both of them sticky with drying semen. "What's that smell?"

"That's a very personal question," said Bodie with mock affront.

"Not that. The burning smell."

"Our dinner probably."

"Bugger," said Doyle without heat. "I forgot all about it. One of us had better get up and switch off the oven."

"Up you get then, sunshine. You're the one pinning me down. I'll give that pizza place that delivers a call."

"Shouldn't we be getting ready for our move?" All love-drained lethargy, Doyle yawned as he pushed himself to his feet but the terrible smell that was coming from the kitchen spurred him into more lively movement.

"Leave all the work to the removal blokes. The number of times they must have moved us over the years, our lives must be an open book to them. Incidentally, Cowley said that if we drive each other crazy living together, tough because he won't authorize us going back into two flats at CI5's expense."

"Thrown together by George Cowley," mused Doyle.

"My thoughts exactly. It's a shame we can't share the thought with him."

"Don't even think it," Doyle warned him.

"You're sounding very butch," Bodie noted speculatively.

Doyle groaned. "I haven't got the strength," he moaned piteously, but he had never been able to resist a challenge.

oOo

 

The following evening they were still congratulating themselves on the spacious ground floor flat, which came complete with a tiny walled garden that would be perfect for fixing the Norton and that gave them all the privacy they could wish. Unpacking the essentials, they collapsed into bed. The first problem arose when they realised that they had both assumed they would be sleeping in their favourite position, the side closest to the door. One way and another, they discovered they possessed enough energy to ensure they both did.

 

Their second night in their joint accommodation, with the bed moved so that it faced the door, thus disposing of one problem, things didn't go quite so smoothly. After years of enduring draughty barracks, tents, or the open sky, which usually emptied itself on him, Bodie positively revelled in his creature comforts. Having suffered enough fresh air to last him a lifetime, he watched with appalled disbelief as Doyle flung open the bedroom window.

"Are you planning to leave that open?" he enquired.

"Of course. Stuffy rooms are bad for you."

Bodie looked at the curtains, which were in danger of standing out at right angles with the force of the gale blasting into the room. "So is pneumonia," he said in a hollow voice, just before he shivered. "Bloody hell, Ray."

"Fresh air's good for you," Doyle insisted.

"You maybe, but not for me." This time Bodie's shiver was not of his own volition.

There was a spiky silence before Doyle's expression brightened. "We'll compromise," he said, as this unfamiliar concept entered his life.

"Fair enough," said Bodie, mollified.

"We'll have the window half-open."

Bodie swallowed his complaint just in time. While Doyle disappeared to take a leak, he slid out of bed to make one alteration to ensure a good night's sleep.

"You've left the curtains undrawn again," said Doyle on his return, going over to draw the curtains again to block out the glow of the street lights.

"That's right. I always sleep that way. There's no one overlooking us so no one can see inside."

"No," said Doyle, mourning the darkened bedroom he was used to at night. It occurred to him that he had never been particularly good at compromise. He glanced at Bodie, who had left the bed to draw the curtain over by a generous half before getting back into bed and sitting there, looking like a kid anticipating Christmas coming early.

"Night," said Doyle, getting into bed and switching off the bedside light on his side.

"Night?" echoed Bodie scathingly, leaving his on. "Aren't you going to make mad, passionate love to me?"

Doyle thought about it. "I suppose I could do," he conceded, tweaking the dark hair tufting at Bodie's armpit.

"Well, that first flush of romance didn't last long, did it," Bodie noted with a grin.

"It doesn't seem like it. Though if we're sticking to our turn and turn about policy you'll be the one doing the hard work." Doyle tossed him the tube of lubricant.

"You're keeping score?"

Doyle snorted.

Bodie turned the tube between his fingers. "What happened to this?"

"I trod on it."

"I could tell that," said Bodie patiently. "It's lucky I had the forethought to buy some more then, isn't it."

oOo

 

Waking to an icy breeze whistling past his numb nose, and draughts down one side because Doyle had appropriated two thirds of the duvet, Bodie thought wistfully of the fug-filled bedroom he had been able to enjoy in the past. Then he rolled onto his side and saw Doyle's head on the adjacent pillow. Seconds later a practised hand settled over his cock, Doyle saying good morning in his own inimitable fashion and Bodie forgot all about cold breezes, even when the covers slid to the floor.

 

"I said you'd be late for work," Doyle remarked with righteous complacency while he leant against the cooker, a mug of tea in hand. "As you're this late, another quarter of an hour can't hurt. Eat your breakfast."

"It's all right for some people, lounging around at home all day." The complaint was muffled by the size of the mouthful of toast Bodie was chewing.

"Yeah, I've got another five days of it, too," said Doyle, rubbing it in and conveniently forgetting he would be in Macklin's company during the last two of them, suffering the tortures of the damned.

Leaning over Bodie, he began to spread marmite on Bodie's second slice of toast. "Vitamins, you'll need 'em," he announced by way of answer to the questioning eyebrow Bodie raised.

"Are you saying I can't keep you and George satisfied?" queried Bodie, unable to keep his eyes from what Doyle was doing. It was ridiculous to be this besotted, he thought ruefully. But it would be convenient when the simple sight of Doyle sucking his finger clean of butter didn't produce this instant tug of arousal; his own tactile memories were still too sweet and strong. He had the feeling they always would be in the face of Doyle's unselfconscious sensuality, Doyle honestly puzzled by what Bodie had already tried explain to him. All that assurance yet Ray was prey to the same doubts as anyone else. It was quite comforting really.

Doyle's voice roused Bodie from possible profundity.

"Me, no sweat, George... What's he got you working on now? You never did get round to telling me last night."

"Observation," said Bodie, gloom-laden. "Rick Holland's place - mansion, I should say - not to mention all three of his shops. Jax and I are - were," he amended conscientiously " - due to take over from Mason and Ruth half an hour ago. It won't hurt them to wait," he added callously as he stole Doyle's toast from under his nose.

"I must remind you of that the next time our relief's late," said Doyle, feeling mellow enough to let him get away with it. "I tell you what, you take on Brian at the end of the week and I'll do the obbo for you," he offered, ever the altruist.

Swallowing his last mouthful of tea while trying to express his feelings on the subject, Bodie nearly choked.

"I'll deal with you tonight," he promised darkly, grabbing his jacket and shrugging into it. "I should be through around eight."

"I'll be ready for you," purred Doyle.

To his intense disgust, Bodie felt the tide of heat flood his body as Doyle padded over to him. "Sod," he said with feeling, one hand curling in Doyle's towelling robe and the other pushing the door shut again.

"You've got to go," Doyle reminded him reluctantly, several slow, wet kisses later.

"I know, I know," mumbled Bodie, kissing his companion one more time before he looked up. "Ray?" he murmured.

"What?" asked Doyle, all bright-eyed expectancy.

"It's no good, I can't keep it to myself any longer. I can't stand the taste of marmite - not even on you." Bodie made a more rapid exit than he had anticipated.

But at least it proved that Doyle was fit enough to come back to work.

oOo

Doyle discovered he had run out of clean socks and briefs again because of Bodie's inability to remember when it was his turn to visit the launderette. Undeterred, Doyle turned to the chest of drawers used by the paragon of neatness he lived with. He stared with disbelief at the regimented ranks stretched out in front of him. The socks were not only rolled up but were colour-coordinated and set out with military precision. It was unnatural, he thought with a conviction borne of his lifelong habit of scattering his possessions wherever he shed them. It was a habit which often enlivened early morning call-outs while he tried to remember where he had left his car keys. But Bodie had been trained not to mark his trail in a hard school.

Careful not to disturb the straight lines, Doyle took what he needed, wondering why he and Bodie had never experienced any difficulties living together during the few days they had been lovers while moving from one flat to the other.

Unless maybe that was the problem, he conceded as he tucked his shirt into his jeans. This wasn't his place, or Bodie's, it was theirs. They just needed to establish a few ground rules and get used to each other's more irritating habits. Like the way Bodie would go out into the kitchen, put the kettle on and then forget all about it. Or the way he would cheerfully use every piece of crockery in the kitchen rather than wash up as he went. Or drink the last of the milk...

 

Managing to coax a small blob of shampoo from the almost empty container, Bodie mused on the drawbacks he had discovered to living with Doyle, who had more irritating habits than anyone else he had ever met. What was worse, from the odd comment Ray had let slip, it was obvious Doyle found some of his habits equally difficult to take.

Bodie frowned. In his own mind he didn't have habits. Habits were what other people had; anal retentives, obsessives, the middle-aged, the boring and the inadequate. Certainly not well-adjusted people like himself.

But if Ray put on the record player and walked out of the room just as it started to play one more time he would strangle him - very slowly. And as for Ray's habit of helping himself to any of Bodie's possessions which took his fancy. Nothing new about that, of course, but there were limits and Bodie's started with sharing a toothbrush. Doyle's sunny assurances that he wasn't worried about the possibility of Bodie having gum disease had been no comfort. A man's toothbrush should be sacrosanct.

Slow to adapt to the idea that Bodie wasn't going to wait on him, Doyle spent longer in the bath than any of Bodie's birds ever had, and he didn't bother to clean it afterwards. About the only thing in his favour was the fact he didn't use Bodie's razor to shave his legs or armpits. Or not so far, Bodie thought darkly.

Padding out of the bathroom, slightly mollified to see that the window was only open to the first catch, Bodie left the half-drawn curtains alone. About to slide into bed, he was sidetracked by just how gorgeous Doyle looked fast asleep. Yet to abandon hope of some romantic celebration to mark Ray's return to work in fighting form, Bodie bent over the sleeper to kiss his Prince Charming awake. Off-guard, the next thing he knew he was flat on his back in a tangle of bedding, with Doyle's muscular forearm blocking his windpipe and a bony knee threatening what he treasured most.

"'S me," Bodie croaked, parting his empty hands in reassurance.

"Who else?" Doyle sounded less than delighted but he had already eased his grip and, more importantly, his knee.

"Is there any chance of you taking your arm off my larynx?" requested Bodie meekly. Unless he wanted to make a fight of it he was effectively pinned and fighting played no part in his list of the things he wanted to do with Ray Doyle.

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"I might choke." Bodie managed to produce an unconvincing cough.

"I couldn't be that lucky." Getting smoothly to his feet, Doyle ignored Bodie's expectant look and outstretched hand and began to remake the bed. "I was dreaming. I suppose I haven't got used to having a bloke looming over me for anything but sinister reasons. After two days with Macklin I'm so wired I'd garotte Bambi if he snuck up on me."

Still on his knees, his elbows propped on the edge of the mattress, Bodie was too busy looking misunderstood to notice what Doyle had intended as an apology. He looked decidedly pained when Doyle gave no sign of noticing that he hadn't moved.

"In case you were worried, I'm all right," Bodie offered in a brave voice.

"I wasn't worried," Doyle told him as he pummelled a pillow into submission. "Aren't you getting chilly down there - or are you getting ready to say your prayers?"

"Only for patience." There was a disgruntled set to Bodie's mouth by this time; he hadn't anticipated being so irresistible. His knees were beginning to ache and there was one hell of a draught whistling around his backside.

"You'll have a long wait for that. What were you doing looming over me like that?" added Doyle.

Sorely tried, Bodie swallowed the first retort which came to mind and came perilously close to pouting. "I had this stupid idea it would be romantic to kiss you awake."

"Ah." Rueful and amused, Doyle flicked him a look. "Sorry," he added but his mouth twitched.

"I should think so," said Bodie. "Although I don't know why you bothered to remake the bed just yet. I've got plans."

"I could tell," said Doyle, his voice muffled by the pillows as he allowed himself to be rolled over onto his belly. "Oh subtle."

oOo

 

"If Cowley assigns us to one more op. - just one - I'm going to tell him where he can stick his job," growled Doyle. His face sullen with fatigue, he pushed dirt-dulled curls from his eyes with the back of his hand.

Bodie gave him a tolerant look. "You do that, mate. It won't stop him but at least it'll make you feel better." His feet propped on a green, Draylon-covered armchair that had been unfashionable twenty years ago, he continued to sip his stewed, over-sweet tea while Doyle muttered complaints to himself, getting it out of his system. Dazed with fatigue, his bruises a dull background throb, Bodie gave a cautious stretch, followed by a sigh of satisfaction.

Things could be worse. They could be dead, for one. If he hadn't been on the ball Ray would be. Not Ray's fault. Anyone could have a stoppage. Pure bloody luck that he'd been in the right place at the right time. and terrifying that despite all their training and experience survival should come down to luck. Bodie didn't feel equal to contemplating quite how fortunate they’d been for more than a few seconds at a time in case it turned his hair grey. Ray was the one who went in for the distinguished flecks in his hair, he was the stunningly handsome one - and engagingly modest to boot.

He took another sip of tea, grimacing when he discovered if hadn't improved since he had tried it last. Save a bloke's life in some countries and it meant he was your responsibility for life. Luckily he and Ray had already sorted that out - in a manner of speaking.

He glanced at his heart's desire. Oblivious, Doyle sniffed before he wiped his nose with the heel of his hand, then scratched his stomach. He looked as if his IQ might - just - stretch to his shoe size.

No change there then, Bodie mused comfortably, wrinkling his nose with distaste when he reached the bottom of the mug and swallowed a mouthful of pure sugar. He didn't know whose mug he was using but the odds were it was Murphy's, it took years of practise to ruin tea the way he did.

The wind whipped around the corner of the building, making the sash windows rattle in their frames. It was a Friday night in late March. Just when everyone had been convinced Spring was springing, the weather had changed. Half the country was suffering under a heavy blanket of snow and even in London it was cold enough for there to be a trail of grey slush which snarled up the traffic. The rec room was deserted, those of the squad unlucky enough to be on duty already out on assignment.

Having cobbled together their report, which was sitting on Cowley's desk, complete with smears of Tippex and Xs-out when they had used the last of the correcting fluid, the two agents were trying to summon up the energy to go home.

"If you were to get to your feet you could pull me up," remarked Doyle, without any expectation that his suggestion would be well received.

"I've got a better idea. Why don't you help me? Or we could both do it on the count of three."

"You can count that far?" returned Doyle, but his heart wasn't in the riposte.

Recognising as much, Bodie pushed himself to his feet and ruffled Doyle's somewhat rank curls. "Come on, angel fish. From the way you stink the water in your tank must need changing."

"You think I hadn't noticed," groaned Doyle. "If I could walk downwind of myself, I would."

"Then let's get going before something starts sprouting on you, or Cowley comes looking for - Bugger," Bodie added despondently when he heard a familiar voice in the corridor. He looked around, but there was nowhere to hide.

"In here you say? Ah, here you are," said Cowley, appearing in the doorway like a less-than-benevolent genie. "Good. I was afraid I might have missed you. Before you go off on leave I've one small job for the pair of you. You remember Colonel Ojuka?"

"Vaguely," said Doyle sardonically.

"Well, it's President Ojuka now and - "

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" murmured Bodie, sinking back onto his seat. "He's a bloke you'd want on your side rather than against you. He's not visiting Britain again?" he added, giving Cowley a look of horror. Wherever Ojuka had gone, a trail of bodies had followed him. He'd almost lost Ray on that one.

"It's not that bad," Cowley assured him, not troubling to hide his amusement.

"He's got himself another wife?" hazarded Doyle.

"As I understand it, the President has no plans to add another spouse to the three still living. It's about his son. As you may remember, the boy began prep. school in Berkshire at the same time that the then Colonel Ojuka came to Britain for secret meetings."

"Uh, we're really not very good with kids," said Doyle, his eyes wide with alarm.

Baby-sitting was the worst fate that could befall an agent. Hard on the nerves, it was worse on the patience. Justifying their expenses to the hard-hearted cynics in Accounts would be preferable. Even archiving. Even, god forbid, chauffeuring Cowley himself.

"You're not much better with the rest of the population," snapped Cowley with asperity. "Except for women over sixteen, of course. I wouldn't care to set an upper age limit."

"Bodie just has two criteria," Doyle confided, stretching out his legs.

"Including a preference that they be breathing?" enquired the Scot. His tone was pure acid.

"There's no need to be like that," remarked Bodie mildly. "So long as they're warm and willing and they have that little twinkle in their eye I'll keep them happy."

"And that's just the fellas," cut in Doyle.

"Very jocular," said Cowley in his most repressive tones, but his mouth gave an appreciative twitch. "The boy - Nylie - will be spending half-term with the youngest son of the Minister for Northern Ireland. They'll be staying in a holiday cottage near Keswick in the Lake District. The boys attend the same prep. school and have struck up a friendship."

Bodie whistled. "That's an explosive combination. I don't envy whoever's in charge of security on that one. Oh no," he added immediately afterwards, the penny dropping with a loud clang into the otherwise echoing recesses of his mind.

"The President wants the best for his son," said Cowley, in an unconvincing attempt to jolly them along.

"Then it's lucky his country's got plenty of lovely oil, isn't it," said Doyle, unimpressed, "or the Foreign Office would be telling him to whistle for any help. What's the betting our services are going to be charged to MI5?"

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humour." Cowley looked as if he had been sucking a lemon. "I might remind you that CI5's budget isn't a laughing matter."

"Laughter's the last thing on my mind when I see my pay-slip," said Bodie, who rarely bothered to open his.

"I feel like declaring a national day of mourning," agreed Doyle, who always did.

Cowley shook his head at the pair of them. "If I may continue? I have a home to go to even if you don't. MI5 will be handling security but President Ojuka specifically requested that you two carry out the review of security at the cottage before the boys arrive. So you've a quick trip up to the Lake District before you continue your leave."

"Continue?" picked up Doyle. He pushed himself from his chair, prepared to do battle.

"Did I say continue? A slip of the tongue," murmured Cowley. His expression bland, his voice was as smooth as his favourite malt whisky.

"And the other," snorted Doyle, undeceived. "I wouldn't mind but we haven't had a day off for almost a month. This is just the time that's owed us. Not leave. We want the guarantee of two weeks' off, starting after we've given the cottage the all-clear."

"No, starting when we get back to London," cut in Bodie firmly. "I don't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere."

"Wordsworth's Lake District doesn't appeal to you?" asked Cowley.

"Given that his daffodils are likely to be under at least a foot of snow, not a lot," said Doyle.

Cowley's eyes narrowed as he belatedly recognised how tired the two men looked. With some reluctance he realised he would have to concede the point and give them some time off. But it was a damn nuisance. While they made the place look untidy there was no doubting their usefulness.

"Get a good night's sleep," he commanded gruffly. "Weather permitting, I'll arrange for a helicopter to fly you to Keswick first thing tomorrow. The cost will be coming out of MI5's budget," he added, in case they thought he was getting soft. "Don't forget to liaise with the local police. The odds are MI5 won't bother and the locals need to be kept informed. Oh, and try not to aggravate MI5 more than necessary."

"A carte blanche! Thanks, sir," said Bodie happily.

oOo

 

Inevitably the security check of the holiday cottage had not been straightforward, particularly once Bodie recognised one of the ground staff as Alex LeBlanc, a mercenary and neo-Nazi whom he had encountered out in Biafra. In the ensuing gun battle two of LeBlanc's men had died, an MI5 agent had been winged and the holiday cottage had suffered more damage than could be explained away to lively and intelligent boys whose fathers were political targets.

Given that half-term was looming, and on the principle 'in confusion, profit', plans for the two boys were changed and they were hidden in open view in London, which was crowded with families flocking to enjoy the attractions. The comments of the MI5 babysitters, who were not addicted to amusement arcades, hamburgers or the Science Museum, and who lacked the stamina of ten year olds, were unprintable. Meanwhile, with the help of the local police, Bodie and Doyle tidied up the loose ends in the Lake District, while failing to look suitably modest about their success.

 

Relieved to have acquired everything he deemed necessary for their stay in the winter wonderland which was the Lake District under eighteen inches of snow, with further falls forecast, Bodie stashed his purchases in the back of the Land Rover he had borrowed. The strengthening wind had an icy edge to it, the sullen sky confirming there would be more snow before the day was out. The tip of his nose an unbecoming shade of cerise, he was shivering by the time he returned to the warmth of the small police station.

Because there was no canteen, he wandered around until he found an office with a kettle and a sympathetic constable. Having scrounged a crusty roll filled with pink and succulent home-cured ham and freshly-made mustard, Bodie mimed his blissful thanks while he chewed. He headed off with a second mug of tea and the smug look of the well-fed.

The worst part of any operation was always the aftermath, he mused, his hands curled around the body of the mug in an effort to warm them. Of course, this op. had been slightly more complicated because of the development which neither he or Ray could have foreseen. One of the men they had killed had been familiar to both of them, only the last time they had seen him he had been working for Angetti under the name Cooper.

Bodie's mouth thinned unforgivingly as he unconsciously shook his head. To work for an arsehole like LeBlanc. There again, Cooper was just running true to form - before LeBlanc had been Davis and Angetti. Convenient that he had known to scarper rather than get caught up in the executions at Angettis's place. Time had run out for him here. Bodie felt neither satisfaction or regret for Cooper's death, it had been a kill or be killed situation. The fact that Cooper had helped to save their lives was immaterial. The odds were Angetti would have kept them alive anyway and Cooper certainly hadn't put himself out to stop Davis. It was possible that the other dead man, as yet unnamed, had been the owner of the cottage Cooper had taken them too.

Let it go, Bodie reminded himself, consciously relaxing beginning-to-lock muscles. Everyone concerned with Davis was dead, the last loose end tied. And if he hadn't shot Cooper, Doyle had. Post-mortum would confirm which of them it had been. Nice to keep it in the family.

His backside punished by the peculiar shape of the moulded plastic chair he was slumped on, Bodie dismissed Cooper from his mind and tried not to look bored while he read for the third time the small print on the poster on the opposite wall.

Disarmed by the help they had received from this small town cop-shop, he had done his bit to co-operate with the natives, who had proved to be disconcertingly helpful to someone accustomed to the surly-at-best response of the Met. The Detective Inspector had won himself Brownie points just by skipping the snide comments about Flash Harry's from London who thought they knew it all and applying himself to the job in hand. In consequence LeBlanc and his men who had survived had been processed through the system in record time.

Slowly working his way down his mug of tea, which was a brew strong enough to give paint-stripper a run for its money, Bodie rubbed a sore spot acquired when he had dived for cover. It had been a near thing. Until Ray had saved him. Again. It was lucky Doyle wasn't keeping score or he would be handing in one hell of a bill - if only for wear and tear on his nerves.

"If you fall asleep like that, you'll end up with tea-stains in places you'd rather not have to explain away," announced Doyle, appearing in front of him with the abruptness of a jack springing from its box.

It was then that Bodie realised he must have dozed off.

"We don't all embarrass as easily as you," he retorted, trying to remember the last time Doyle had been embarrassed. Or if the confident little sod even understood the concept. Modesty wasn't a word he'd ever thought of in connection with Doyle before and it refused to linger long.

His gaze remaining on the other man, Bodie gave a grin of reluctant admiration, even while a flicker of interest pulsed southwards. Wearing patched and faded jeans and an over-large Aran-knit cream sweater, Ray was managing to broadcast a moody sexuality while doing nothing more provocative than breathing. His shoulders propped against the wall, his canting pelvis offered the interested a splendid view of most of his assets. Bodie wondered if it would be possible to count pubic hairs; intrigued, he tried to put his theory to the test.

"Think you'll recognise me again?" enquired Doyle dryly, his weight shifting a little. Hoping the gesture appeared accidental, he pulled down his sweater to the top of his thighs. Sometimes Bodie only had to look at him with that brooding, speculative once-over and he got hard. Not a good idea in a police station. The locals had been co-operative and friendly; it would be nice to keep it that way, if only for the novelty value.

"That depends," said Bodie, hedging his bets because one of his favourite views was now hidden from sight.

"Don't even think of trying that hackneyed 'Your flies are open' routine with me," Doyle warned him lazily, padding over to relieve Bodie of the thick pottery mug he held and drinking the dregs. He gave a grimace of disgust. "Blimey, have you got any tooth enamel left? This tea is strong enough to trot a mouse on."

"Says the expert."

"Never mind the smart remarks. We're cleared for take-off, so let's get going before Cowley can think of any other little jobs he'd like us to do. I even managed to rent another car - no mean feat given the bullet holes in the last one we hired. At least it's what the rental agency swears is a car. It looks like a sardine can on wheels to me. They couldn't offer four wheel drive. I got the feeling I should be grateful it has four wheels. Though it's anyone's guess how it'll cope with conditions outside," Doyle added with gloom. "We'll just have to stick to the main roads."

Bodie stopped singing 'Rockin' Robin' under his breath only after a couple of death threats. "Gerroff," he said, stiff-arming Doyle away. "We can take the car back before we set off. I've managed to borrow a Land Rover. And you can stop with the faces. I'll deal with the rental agency."

To his surprise Doyle just gave an equitable nod. "Fair enough. Where did you get the Land Rover from? You haven't been commandeering stuff in Cowley's name again, have you? He didn't see the funny side last time, and he isn't mellowing with age."

Bodie looked hurt. He looked decidedly pained when Doyle ignored what he had always considered to be one of his best hang-dog looks.

"No, I haven't," he said with a trace of indignation. "If you must know, it belongs to the DI's sister. She's a vet. But as she's off on a skiing holiday she doesn't need it and we'll be gone before she's due back. While I was waiting for you I bought a few supplies we might need. That cottage the desk sergeant offered us sounded a bit primitive to me. Though as it's going to be a holiday cottage when he's finished doing it up it can't be that bad."

"You reckon?" Doyle looked dubious. "He said he hadn't had time to do much."

Bodie patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, trust me."

Against his better judgement, Doyle did.

 

"Ray, can I ask you something?" asked Bodie, right in the middle of an argument about whether that was a footpath on the map or a chocolate stain from the Cadbury's Flake he had eaten earlier.

Doyle swallowed his tart retort when he recognised the trace of uncertainty in the look Bodie gave him before he returned his attention to the road ahead.

"Anything," he said simply. If seeing Cooper against had shaken him, he didn't like to think what it might have done to Bodie.

There was a disconcerted silence.

"You mean that, don't you," said Bodie, looking happier by the second.

"Course I do, you daft bugger. I was just wondering. Do you want to talk about Cooper, or Davis?"

Bodie looked surprised. "What for? They're both dead." The satisfaction in his voice was undeniable.

"That's true enough. Then what was it you wanted to talk about? You don't have any regrets, do you?" Doyle added, his manner ultra-casual.

Undeceived, Bodie noticed the series of knots in the long fringe of the scarf Doyle wore, and which he had been fidgeting with for the last half hour. It didn't occur to him to make a joke, not about this.

"That's what I was just going to ask you," he said honestly.

"I knew I should've kept quiet," said Doyle morosely.

"That would have been a first. Why?" Bodie thought to add, as he beamed at a shaggy-haired, long-horned cow grazing on what looked like a patch of slush at the roadside.

"Because every time we have a row you're bound to remind me that I was the one who asked first," said Doyle with gloom.

"You'd better believe it. And no, it doesn't count if you take the offer back," Bodie added promptly. "Don't get too cocky, either. I'm only putting up with you so I can keep on living at our flat. It's the best I've ever had. And that spare room gives us space to spread ourselves."

"Or somewhere for you to move into when we have a row," said Doyle, his lugubrious tone at odds with the happy light in his eyes.

Bodie smiled through the sleet-splattered windscreen. "There's no risk of you having a too rosy picture of all this, is there. We're doing all right so far. Stop harping on about all the rows we're going to have and try and find what's-it's-name," he instructed.

"I haven't seen any signposts for it," said Doyle as he flattened a fold in the over-sized map.

"It's been a while since we've seen a signpost for anywhere. Is it me, or do they have bloody long miles in this neck of the woods? I thought the Lake District was all chocolate box scenery and nose-to-bumper tourists at this time of year."

"First they have to be able to get here. Last I heard some of the main roads in were still shut by the drifts. Anyone with any sense is miles away, somewhere warmer. I wonder if it'll stop sleeting?"

"Only to snow by the look of that sky," said Bodie with authority. "It's at times like this that I remember why I like London so much."

"Yeah. Still, we'll appreciate it all the more for a change of scenery. While it might turn out to be a bit primitive, I'd rather have a cottage where we can do what we like, instead of a hotel."

"There is that," conceded Bodie. "We certainly won't have to worry about anyone walking in on us."

"I wouldn't anyway," said Doyle with perfect truth.

"We're not all exhibitionists like you." Bodie's quelling tone was made unconvincing by the gleam in his eyes.

"No," agreed Doyle sadly. "But I'm planning to work on that."

"I've always said a man should have a hobby," agreed Bodie. "Of course, if we stayed in a hotel at least we'd get our meals cooked for us," he mused pensively, the ham roll but a distant memory and all the food he had bought out of arm's reach.

"You will anyway," Doyle pointed out.

The sole of one booted foot propped against the dashboard, his dark, calf-length coat wrapped around him, he tucked his chin into the folds of his grey scarf like a tortoise retreating into its shell. Some people went to St Lucia for their holidays, he had a derelict cottage in the middle of a smallholding, whatever that might be, and a blizzard to look forward to. And he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy. He only realised he had said so out loud when Bodie gave a smug beam.

"I thought you must be," he conceded.

"How come?" demanded Doyle, nauseated by that display of confidence.

"Instead of a little twinkle, I'm in danger of being blinded by the light. Are you sure you're all right about this trip?"

"Positive," replied Doyle, who possessed a touching faith in Bodie's ability to cope with, if not conquer, the great outdoors. "What did you buy while you were gallivanting round the shops? There are a lot of bundles in the back."

"That was because we needed a fair bit of stuff. Be grateful this is hiking and camping country. Thanks to my forethought we'll be snug and well-fed whatever the weather chucks at us. I'll let you know what you owe me."

"By all means," said Doyle kindly.

Bodie feigned shock. "You mean you'd let me fork out my hard-earned cash without offering to chip in?"

"How long have you known me?"

"Long enough to realise that was a stupid thing to ask," accepted Bodie. He grinned when he received a poke in the ribs from a sharp elbow.

"So what - apart from survival gear - have you bought?"

"A few things that might come in handy. I can't rely on you to get all the right food."

"Give me strength," sighed Doyle in a long-suffering tone. "I discovered your passion for Mars bars, _The Beano_ and tinned pineapple within two months of us being teamed. I was hardly likely to forget to get them when we stopped off at the supermarket."

"I couldn't be certain you'd buy them though, could I?"

Doyle patted Bodie on the thigh, allowing his hand to linger because there was no one to see. "Of course I would. After all, we're on the closest we're ever going to get to a honeymoon. Luckily I have no little foibles," he added in a pious tone.

"Crunchies and _Private Eye_ ," said Bodie, busy absorbing what Doyle had just said about honeymoons and hoping his grin wasn't so wide that he risked catching flies - or worse, Ray's attention, and derision.

"I hope you haven't forgotten the soft toilet paper," warned Doyle darkly.

Bodie gave him a fond look. "You do harp on. Once you had to do without it. Though only you could have expected all mod cons in the middle of Exmoor while on army manoeuvres."

"You've been mixing with too many rough, tough soldiers," said Doyle, pursing his mouth in a way that made Bodie want to kiss him rather badly, just before he had to correct his steering. Despite the fact it had begun to snow, he was grinning again at the memory of the one and only time Doyle had gone out on manoeuvres. Ray had managed to complain for the entire thirty-seven and a quarter hours they had been out on that basic training exercise, including while up a rock face and later when thigh-deep in a bog. Ray's complaints had the added advantage that the other teams had leapt to the obvious and erroneous conclusion about delicate and effete CI5 agents, although they had paid the price later. A couple of them had even bought Ray a pint back at barracks - after a bit of prompting. Still, what Ray didn't know about wouldn't upset him, Bodie mused.

"This snow looks like it's set in for the next few hours. Slow down, this should be Hardsmore coming up." Doyle squinted at the partially obscured sign.

 

"At last," said Doyle as they pulled up outside the dour looking cottage.

Bodie gave him a patient look. "We would have been here a lot sooner if someone had told me to turn left when they should have. It's a novel idea to drive in a twenty mile circle just to get a mile from where you started," he mused, philosophical about their navigational hiccough because Doyle had been the one map-reading.

"I told you, they looked like chocolate stains in the creases and you were the only one eating chocolate." And highly distracting the sight had been. Arching forward, Doyle rubbed the small of his back. "Bodie? Oy! Cloth-ears!" You might have the decency to pay attention when I'm insulting you.”

"What? I heard you," mumbled Bodie, looking glassy-eyed with lust just before Doyle scratched an itch. "I was just thinking. There's something erotic about the word creases."

Doyle looked dubious. "There is?"

"Especially when I'm eating you - paying particular attention to all those interesting little places."

Because it didn't take an Einstein to follow that train of thought, Doyle was right behind him. "Ah, but do you like hair in your food?"

"There is that," Bodie conceded as they left the Land Rover to start unpacking. "You could always shave down there."

"Never going to happen," Doyle told him serenely as he carried the large but light bundle of sleeping bags, leaving Bodie to totter along behind him with three heavy boxes piled on top of each other.

By their third trip Doyle was beginning to appreciate what Bodie had meant by buying in supplies. Many an arctic expedition had been less well-provided for.   
Only when they had used their combined weight to close the warped wooden door, shutting out the howl of the wind and the dizzying swirl of the snowstorm, did Bodie pause to take stock of their surroundings.

"Maybe upstairs is better," said Doyle after a moment. He caught hold of Bodie's wrist, dragging Bodie after him.

"I never realised _period cottage_ meant no inside toilet, heating or hot water and a two inch gap under the front door," remarked Bodie pensively, once they were back downstairs again.

"If we get caught short at night we can always pee down the kitchen sink. We can block the gaps under the front and back door - and the door to the kitchen, come to that, and heat water in a saucepan over the open fire," said Doyle pragmatically. "At least there's glass in the windows. If we close the shutters they should keep out the worst of the draughts, as well as give us a bit of privacy. There's plenty of coal in the shed outside the back door, so once we get the fire going it'll be quite cosy."

"Shame there's no electricity of course. Or gas, come to that."

"We've got plenty of candles and a primus," Doyle pointed out.

"I know, I bought 'em," said Bodie smugly.

"All right, all right, you were the clever clogs who came prepared for the worst," conceded Doyle fairly. "Given the fact there's no heating upstairs, not to mention the lack of floorboards, shall we camp out down here in front of the fire?"

"You're taking all this very well," said Bodie, not without suspicion. It deepened when he received a sunny smile.

"Yes, I am, aren't I. You can play with the fire while I get the air mattress blown up and see about a meal. I'm hungry even if you're not."

"I'm starving. And I'll need all my strength."

Doyle frowned. "What for?"

"Two weeks of torrid sex," anticipated Bodie happily.

Propped against the wall, Doyle shook his head at him in a pitying fashion. "Not tonight, Josephine. As soon as we've got the place straight and had something to eat I'm going to get my head down. And not where you've probably got in mind."

"I wasn't thinking of tonight exactly," said Bodie, meticulously setting the base for the fire in the best army tradition. "Just the general principle. You know?" He swivelled around on his haunches and smiled.

There was such a wealth of love in that smile that for almost twenty seconds Doyle forgot how to breathe.

"I know," he acknowledged, his voice gentle, his expression wonderfully softened. Crossing the room, he bent and casually kissed the top of Bodie's head before he went out into what passed for the kitchen. Stone flags, stone walls and the gap under the back door ensured he lingered long enough only to discover it contained little that would be of use to them.

An hour later the golden warmth of the fire had crept into every corner of the small room. The shutters drawn, and the draughts excluded, the candles offered a soft light that flattered everything. Bodie had blown up the double air mattress and spread out the luxurious sleeping bags. For once Doyle made no complaint about eating out of a tin, grateful for a hot meal and Bodie's foresight.

Snug as bugs in the down-filled bags, Doyle stared drowsily into the flames, listening to Bodie's soft, even breathing beside him.

oOo

Always slower to unwind than Bodie, Doyle spent a poor night. It hadn't been helped by reliving moments when it had seemed unlikely that either of them would survive. Those sort of dreams didn't happen often, he was too pragmatic for that, but recently there had been a lot of near-misses. And seeing Cooper again had provided an unwanted reminder of the time he had let Bodie down. Feeling more tired than when he had gone to bed, he was less than thrilled to be woken by warm gusts of moist air being blown down his right ear.

"Go away, Bodie," he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"How did you know it was me?" asked Bodie, miffed.

"Like I'd allow any other bloke to share my bed, let alone wake up with his cock prodding my arse. Go away." Doyle hitched the luxurious down-filled sleeping bag so high that all that could be seen of him was a few curls straggling over the edge.

"You don't mean that," said Bodie confidently. There was the rustle of bedding before he slid one hand down Doyle's sleep-warm body.

"Gerroff!" yelped Doyle as he convulsed. "Your hand's freezing."

"That's because it's cold out," Bodie explained in the patient tone of one humouring an idiot. He ignored his lack of welcome and eased even closer.

"All the more reason to stay under the covers, no draughts."

"You must be imagining them. I've blocked up all the gaps under the doors and the fire's blazing. It's as warm as toast in here. Just for you," coaxed Bodie in his most beguiling manner.

"I'm too tired," complained Doyle grumpily, even as he conceded defeat and rolled onto his back.

"Liar."

"I'm knackered," Doyle insisted, clutching one of the makeshift pillows to him in a manner reminiscent of a silent movie heroine when faced with the wicked - and randy - Sheik.

"I'll do all the work," Bodie promised. His tongue flicked into Doyle's ear.

"Sod!" A delving finger dried off the orifice. One eye opening, Doyle visibly paused as he took in the expression on his lover's face. "All right," he sighed, "I surrender. Get it over with. What do you want me to do?"

"I'm never going to be able to accuse you of giving me too much encouragement, am I," said Bodie ruefully.

"I can't risk you getting over-confident, can I. Look on me as a challenge."

"Unnecessary advice, my son. Still, if it means I get to play with you."

Bodie sounded so gleeful that Doyle gave him a wary look from beneath his lashes; his resolve turned to the consistency of warm toffee. Bodie's face was alight with anticipation. To look at him you would think he hadn't got a care in the world. Maybe he hadn't. After all, LeBlanc's bullet had missed him and they had two weeks' leave ahead of them: fourteen days - and nights.

"Play away." While Doyle sighed and looked hard-done-by, he knew it would only sweeten Bodie's eventual, inevitable victory.

"You mean that? OK, you mean it," said Bodie hastily. "Out of the sleeping bag then. I want to get at you."

Feeling less hard-done-by with every second that passed, Doyle made only a token protest as Bodie arranged him on the makeshift bed to his satisfaction. Spreadeagled across the centre of the mattress on his back, Doyle's arms and legs were opened wide in self-imposed restraint. While his expression was long-suffering, his cock betrayed his growing interest.

"Where to start first," muttered Bodie in a distracted tone as he hovered over his prey.

Wearing a hopeful expression, Doyle tilted his pelvis slightly. Warm palms settled over his hip bones, pushing him back down and holding him there.

"Head first, or feet?" asked Bodie brightly.

"What?"

"You heard me. It seems only fair to let you choose which end I start at as I work my way to the middle."

"I may just kill you," Doyle told him when he appreciated the extent of the torture he could expect to suffer.

"Not for a while you won't," said Bodie with certainty. "On second thoughts, I'll give your feet a miss while you're in this mood."

"Bodie..."

"Not a chance, sunbeam. You want it, you have to earn it," Bodie told him.

Doyle's belly twitched in anticipation of the caress which never arrived.

"I'm definitely going to kill you," he remarked in a conversational tone. But he made no attempt to move.

"Maybe you will, but I bet you'll wait till I've finished with you."

"I suppose I might," conceded Doyle, in the lofty tone of one granting an immense favour. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

His eyes sparkling with fun, Bodie spared him a pitying glance. "Is that a serious question?"

Doyle gave a faint, wry smile and ran his forefinger down Bodie's neck. "I suppose not. Do your worst."

"I don't think worst is the word you wanted. Or maybe it is," Bodie conceded, having thought about it.

Lit by the light of the flames, which turned their skin to a mellow gold, he bent his head. He kissed Doyle's temples, his eyelids and his ears, licking behind them until Doyle was covered in gooseflesh. Only when he judged frustration to be in danger of souring the anticipation did he move on to Doyle's just parted mouth, offering tantalisingly chaste kisses before he moved elsewhere. As if intent on driving Doyle mad, he didn't linger anywhere long, every caress, nuzzle and nip shooting straight to his lover's groin.

It became increasingly difficult to keep still, but Doyle did his best, a willing captive in whatever game Bodie wanted to play with him.

There was hardly an inch of Doyle that escaped Bodie's ministrations. A compliant Doyle was a delicious novelty because there was the constant uncertainty of how long said compliance would last.

Doyle nearly came the first time Bodie's soft-mouthed lips brushed the head of his cock. Incoherencies escaped him when his testicles were gently massaged at the same time that his cock was engulfed in the warm, wet welcome of Bodie's mouth and his lover began a strong sucking action.

Doyle came yelling Bodie's name.

By the time he regained a sense of where he was a gentle hand was stroking the strands of hair from where they were stuck to his sweating forehead.

"You great cretin," said Doyle roughly as he correctly interpreted the longing on the face so close to his own. "Come here and let me at you."

Easing Bodie onto his back, he bent his head and with no preliminaries gave him the best blow job Bodie had ever enjoyed, stripping away his usual defences.

Fiercely protective of Bodie in that moment of vulnerability, Doyle stroked and soothed him until strong hands tightened around him.

"Ray?" whispered Bodie, sounding just a little uncertain.

Then they were hugging as if their very lives depended on it.

His face buried against Doyle's throat and his heart hammering, Bodie managed an interrogatory murmur as Doyle's grip on him tightened.

"Ease up, sunshine. You're not squeezing toothpaste from the tube, you know."

"That must be what's wrong with my technique," mused Doyle as he slid from Bodie to the air mattress. Leaning down, he yanked up the covers, enfolding them in the soft, insubstantial comfort of the down-filled sleeping bags.

"Like angel's wings," mumbled Bodie, who had his eyes shut.

Doyle had the sense not to pick up on that. He was too busy wondering what had made their love-making just now so special. It wasn't as if they had done anything they hadn't done dozens of times before. That didn't stop him from feeling as if he had just invented sex. Not that he was complaining, it was just that if he knew what he had done he could do it again. His head back, exposing the long line of his throat, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling as he struggled to subdue the urge to chuckle from sheer delight. Sifting through Bodie's sweat-dampened hair, he waited for his mouth to return to his control.

"You know," he said at last, when he judged Bodie to be in a state to hear him, "we're going to have to make love more often. My heart won't stand the strain otherwise." He felt rather than heard the rumble of laughter, then felt the butterfly touch of Bodie's mouth on the skin just above his armpit.

"It wasn't bad, was it," Bodie allowed. Because he was the man he was, he made no effort to disguise the extent of his pleasure.

"Smug bastard," said Doyle without rancour, continuing to stroke up and down the strong back with long, slow sweeps of his hand.

"You bet," agreed Bodie.

Begrudging him none of his triumph, Doyle tucked an arm and leg over him in an unconscious gesture of possession which Bodie noted but allowed for now; he fell asleep within seconds, still smiling slightly.

 _Bloody hell_ , Doyle thought with disbelief, _we've done it now_. But when he, too, fell asleep, it was with a faint smile on his face.

oOo

 

"Hello," offered Bodie dozily. Opening his eyes, he offered a drowsy smile of great sweetness.

"That's tactful of you," teased Doyle. "Saves you having to remember who you went to Bodie with. I meant bed," he amended hastily, upon realising what he had just said.

"I liked the first version best. And you're obviously judging everyone by yourself, mate. I always remember who I've gone to bed with."

"Yeah, it's calling out the right name at the critical moment that gives you a problem," said Doyle with a fond grin.

Bodie groaned. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you. It wasn't as if I was calling out Macklin's name exactly. Just that I remembered I was due to go down to him for reassessment and I didn't want you biting me anywhere that might show. His name just came out at the wrong time, that's all."

Doyle nodded understandingly. "I believe you. Of course, others might not be so gullible. It's almost tempting to tell Brian just to see how he'd take it," he mused.

Bodie raised his head. "I sometimes wonder about you," he said broodingly, before he gave an even broader grin than the one his companion was wearing. "It _is_ tempting, isn't it?"

"The only problem being, what if Brian's been hankering after you all these years and wants to take you up on it?" said Doyle with a cheerful unconcern.

Bodie looked pained. "Wash your mouth out with soap. Jesus, Ray. You don't half know how to ruin the mood."

"What mood would that be then?" enquired Doyle, cupping Bodie's rump.

"I forget," lied Bodie. He stroked his index finger along a strongly marked eyebrow, before following the line of the cheekbone to the jaw, where he sought out the riches of Doyle's mouth. Sliding a sly, sideways look at Doyle, he got his finger nipped for his pains.

"There's no need to get over-confident," said Doyle, but his tone was indulgent.

"Joint effort. It makes all the difference." Bodie gave a smile of total happiness.

The sweetness of it stopped Doyle in his tracks. He searched for a way to express it with the minimum of embarrassment to either of them. "Fancy a cup of tea?"

Bodie mimed astonishment. "You're offering to make it?"

"Just this once." Crawling out of bed, Doyle bundled into his clothing and ignored Bodie's smug look as he set about preparing breakfast over the open coal fire.

oOo

 

The storm having died down during the night, it took Doyle a moment or two to appreciate that the noise which had woken him was the sound of Bodie peeing into the kitchen sink. Flexing his toes, he lay back with a sigh of contentment. While a mattress on the floor was more spartan than he was used to, the sleeping bags were luxurious in the extreme. His linked hands folded under his head, he gave a long stretch, subsided and wondered what Bodie was doing now.

Various noises indicated that Bodie had returned to the room. The first whiff of toasting bread confirmed the truth and a blissful smile crossed Doyle's face.

"You're spoiling me. Breakfast in bed."

"That would be true if that's what you were getting. This bread isn't up to much. Skinny little slices with no body to them. Bit like you really," Bodie mused, just before an accurately thrown cushion hit him in the back of the head.

"I'll have some of that chunky orange marmalade you got rather than the honey this morning," Doyle instructed. "I don't want to get all sticky."

Crouched in front of the fire, holding the toasting fork he had improvised from an already bent poker, Bodie swivelled around the better to direct his hard stare.

"You have honey. You could do with sweetening up."

"OK, but no complaining when you get hair between your teeth," Doyle warned.

"It's a deal. This is a great holiday, isn't it?"

"It has been so far." Doyle's head popped through the sweatshirt he was pulling on. "It's going to be the best," he confirmed, and it had the sound of a promise.

oOo

 

Instead of the non-stop torrid sex scenes Bodie had predicted, the next week and a half was a period of sleeping late before tramping for miles through the snow, sometimes going for hours without seeing anyone. Some evenings they visited the one pub, where Bodie sweet-talked the landlady into letting them have baths.

They never came to love the outside toilet, or sketchy washes in the freezing kitchen. But the comfort foods from their childhood and sweet leisurely kisses made up for those minor inconveniences.

The quick thaw brought flooding to some areas, and made their explorations damper as they watched spring make up for lost time. Flowers sprang up so fast anyone would think they were trying to win a bet.

oOo

Doyle finished his second bowl of stew and pensively eyed the remains in the pot.

"Thirds?" invited Bodie, raising the serving spoon.

"There's no point pushing my luck. I've eaten too much as it is. It must be the air up here or something. You're turning into a halfway decent cook."

"Damn," said Bodie, under no illusions. "Far be it for me to inject a note of grim realism into our country idyll but if we don't do some washing-up soon there won't be anything left for us to use. It's just a pity I chucked our only tea towel out with the rubbish."

"That's all right. I've been using that old green tee shirt of yours," said Doyle serenely. "And you can stop pulling faces. You hadn't worn it."

"That's a great comfort. No point asking why you didn't use something of yours," Bodie added with resignation. "I dunno why you couldn't have left well alone. It's a well-known fact that drip-drying's more hygienic. You fancy a trip into town?"

Doyle considered it, then shook his head. "I can't say I've any burning ambition in that direction. Why?"

"I thought I'd drive in to pick up more food - and anything else we might want."

Doyle sat back in his chair. "Now we get to it. What have we run out of that you can't live without?"

"Apart from lubricant?"

"Ah. Well, there is that. Though we could always experiment."

"Not with my delicate skin we couldn't," Bodie said firmly.

"You only had the rash two days," said Doyle, grinning at the dark look he received. Not that it had been funny at the time.

"Anyway, we're running low on loo paper. We could use some more bread, fruit and veg. and - "

"And?" prompted Doyle, undeceived by that virtuous list.

"And I've eaten my last Mars bar and the village shop has run out."

"Blimey, national emergency that is. Go on then. See if you can get a pack of cards while you're out. Oh, and socks. Batteries for the shaver. And some more cheese. In fact get a selection."

"But not that white stuff that tastes like slug."

"I bow to your greater experience. Oh, and some decent plonk. More candles might be an idea too."

"I wasn't planning an all-day expedition," said Bodie, his lower lip beginning to jut out.

"I know you weren't. Piss off and leave me to do yet another load of washing up," dismissed Doyle. But as Bodie walked past him, muttering under his breath in a hard-done-by kind of way Doyle caught hold of his sweater and reeled him in. "Oy, aren't you going to say goodbye properly?"

"Goodbye properly," said Bodie obediently, before he grinned and bent to give Doyle a chaste peck on the forehead. "Don't get housemaids' hands," he instructed at the door. He was so smug that his reaction time was well down, the wet dishcloth catching him full on the back of the head.

 

Standing at the chipped enamel sink, which would have been large enough for him to sit in, had he been inclined to put it to the test, Doyle stared vacantly out of the grimy window. The plastic bowl he was using to wash up in was so small he could only do a few plates at a time, which meant he didn't even have to look at what he was doing.

It must have rained in the night, the flagstones outside dark and shiny, and daffodils poking their heads up in the unlikeliest spots. The clear blue of the sky and the sunshine were an irresistible lure, making the drab cottage seem darker and dustier than ever. Reasoning that it couldn't be any colder outside than it was in the unheated kitchen, Doyle twitched a dripping woollen cuff out of the water and wrung it out as best he could.

Setting the last pan to dry, he pulled on his sheepskin jacket and boots before setting off outside to explore. While he and Bodie had been out walking almost every day, they had not thought to check out the land at the back of the cottage. Standing at the edge of the flagstones, he stood surveying his temporary kingdom, beginning to appreciate just how big it was.

If this was a smallholding, it made you realise why some people attached so much importance to owning their own patch of land. All he had that was his, apart from the odds and sods accumulated in his various flats, was the Norton. He didn't have so much as a window box that he could call his own. Cowley owned everything. Well, CI5 did. Same thing, really, Doyle mused as he set off to check out the extensively planted and to his city-dweller eyes, large garden.

By the time he went back indoors Doyle had made a number of tentative plans for the future, depending on what Bodie thought of them, of course. Thoughgiven the way he'd taken to the beer in the pub down the road and the fact the local shop sold Mars bars, he'd probably be up for it. Bodie loved this place even more than he did, which given his well-publicised views on the countryside suggested he'd be amenable to seeing more of it.

Heeling off his muddy boots and slinging his jacket on the hook at the back door, Doyle discovered Bodie to be home and eating the last of the cold stew.

"This isn't bad," Bodie adjudged, chewing the last of the bread with which he had wiped out the serving dish.

"It's lucky we weren't supposed to be having that for dinner."

"Very, because I'd have plenty to say if you thought you could get away with feeding me half-rations. Besides, the cupboards are bursting with food again."

"Good, because I'm planning to eat a lot of it. I went for a walk. Started to think about what we'll do when we get too old for this job."

"Tell me you don't want to be a shepherd," groaned Bodie.

Doyle gave him a speaking look while he unpacked the shopping. "No, but I wondered what you'd think about moving to somewhere like this village. Buying a small place of our own. We could grow some of our own food, maybe keep hens. Don't laugh, I'm serious."

"How would we earn a living?" asked Bodie curiously.

"Well, I thought about trying to sell your body to science, only they'd probably expect me to pay them. I hadn't got that far. Not really. I'm a damn good mechanic and you can turn your hand to almost anything you set your mind to. I can't really see us running a B&B. But maybe something like orienteering courses? Survival stuff for middle-management. What d'you think?" Doyle asked through a mouthful of the local cheese and a radish.

"It never occurred to me to plan for the future," said Bodie, taken aback. "You've got a point. When it's time to leave the streets I'd rather get well away from CI5, rather than move into the B squad, or hang around like some pathetic old relic, training wet-behind-the-ears kids. That survival course idea of yours isn't bad. And we both like it up here. I've got some money put by for emergencies. I like the idea of a place of our own, whatever we decide to do, wherever we decide to go. And I know it sounds stupid but ever since we've been staying here I keep thinking about pigs. Keeping them, I mean. I like pigs."

"Based on your vast experience of them?" enquired Doyle, this a hitherto undisclosed facet of Bodie.

"I've never even seen one alive, in the flesh so to speak," said Bodie cheerfully. "Only in a frying pan. My liking for sausages aside, I like what I've seen of pigs on TV. They're supposed to be more intelligent than dogs."

"Not a great stretch," Doyle pointed out. "One flaw to this plan of yours. What if you get fond of the pigs? What happens to the homemade sausages then?"

"I wasn't planning to _eat_ them," said Bodie, shocked.

Doyle's grinned widened. "Maybe you should visit a farm, first. Get surround-a-smell. But I'm not averse to the idea of of owning our own place - if we could afford it."

"There are plenty of ways and means of earning a crust. It's not like we're hankering after swimming pools and yachts. And even at this time of year there are plenty of tourists around. We couldn't run those survival courses in the winter. Or only for masochists. Maybe you could take up your painting again?"

Doyle gave him an incredulous look, then started to laugh. "Oh, mate, that proves you don't know anything about art," he said affectionately. "We could probably make do with casual work for the winter if we can't think of anything better. A bit of labouring would keep us fit."

"We'll start giving it some serious thought," said Bodie, helping himself to a wedge of cheddar and apple before he looked around. "How much do you reckon this place would cost?"

"I thought he was going to do it up for a holiday cottage?"

"He is. But he's already had it a year. At this rate it'll fall down before he's finished. We could ask."


	7. Chapter 7

By the time they returned to London they were the proud, if impoverished owners of a near-derelict cottage and three and a half acres of land. Half-embarrassed, half-gleeful about the step they had taken to protect their future, they spent the entire journey to London discussing ways and means of doing up the cottage and letting it until they wanted to make a permanent move from CI5 and London.

oOo

 

Having been virtually crackling with energy when they returned to London, a few twenty hour days quietened them down - and prevented less rested agents, whose love-life wasn't in the same euphoric state, from murdering them.

"You know what I want most right now?" muttered Doyle, slumping back against their front door to close it before he fumbled with the safety chains.

His parka removed, Bodie gave him a look of weary hope. "Breakfast?"

"Nah, that's second on my list, after a shower. Those sacks I fell into reeked."

"I know, I'm the poor sod who had to sit next to you on the way home."

"I wondered why you had all the windows down. Not at all typical that," said Doyle wisely.

"'A nice easy pick-up,'" quoted Bodie bitterly as he rubbed a deep-seated ache in his thigh where he had been thrown against something hard and unyielding. "Bloody Cowley."

"Yeah. That's three times this week he's been wrong, though the first was only about the weather. Is that leg giving you trouble?" asked Doyle abruptly as he switched on the living room light.

"No. Well it is seizing up a bit," Bodie conceded, abandoning his stiff upper lip under an intimidating glare of disbelief.

That burst of honesty earned him an approving pat.

"That's more like it. All right, get 'em off," Doyle commanded briskly, taking off his jacket and folding back the sleeves of his shirt. Leaning forwards, he tweaked at the waistband of Bodie's cords.

During the ensuing tussle, he found himself with rather more of Bodie than he had anticipated, squashed in the corner of the sofa. Struggling to free himself, laughter deprived him of what little energy he had left.

"Cretin. Gerroff, I can't breathe." But the hands braced against the broad chest exerted no pressure, the smile that never seemed far distant returning to Doyle's eyes as the tensions of the job fell away.

"I knew it couldn't last," moaned Bodie, satisfied that they had unwound enough. "Spurned after only - How long has it been?"

"What?"

Doyle's attention was wholly given to the powerful thigh muscle beneath him, his fingers delicately gauging the severity of the injury.

"Us. It must be, what, four months? Five?"

"Just over four," Doyle told him absently. "Seems longer, doesn't it?"

"Seems like forever. In a good way," Bodie thought to add.

"Good save," noted Doyle. "We're not doing so bad though, are we?"

"What was that about smug? You'd give complacent a whole new meaning with a smirk like that. We're doing OK. I didn't think it would be this effortless though," Bodie added lazily, stretching under the probing fingers. "I thought we might need to have a few deep and meaningful chats about things. Some time to establish the parameters of our heightened relationship."

"You what?" Doyle stared at him. "Have you been watching BBC2 again?" he demanded with suspicion, inadvertently propping a bony elbow on the beginning-to-darken bruise as he leant forward.

Bodie's nod turned into a yelp of pain, until he found the minor injury being nuzzled better.

"That's more like it," he murmured with sleepy approval, opening a sorrowful eye when Doyle raised his head.

"That's what comes of distracting me," Doyle told him unsympathetically.

"How come it's my fault?"

"Because I am never wrong," Doyle told him, rubbing gently. Then he looked up with a sleepy, contented smile.

Reaching out, Bodie's fingers traced the flawed profile, smoothing back the tangle of hair. "You'll have to get this cut soon," he remarked inconsequentially as he sifted through the heavy curls. He had a shrewd idea that it had been his own murmured confession one night which had led Doyle to view the world from what was fast becoming an embarrassment of hair; Murphy had offered him a packet of hair clips the other day.

"I wish I could say the same for you," said Doyle.

"I'll grow it later," Bodie promised, not immune to that look of large-eyed sorrow. "In a few years," he added hastily.

Rising to his feet, Doyle grinned down at him. "Oh yeah? I won't hold my breath. You'll be bald before I can con you into doing that."

"Bald? You reckon?" It was a novel concept because it had never occurred to Bodie that he might survive long enough to have to worry about mundane details like hair loss.

"I dunno," said Doyle, unconcerned at the prospect. "When did your old man lose his hair? Oh, I forgot, you don't know."

"Yeah, he must've been all of thirty last time I saw him," Bodie reminded him, untroubled. The only family he needed stood in front of him, scratching his rib cage with a wholehearted pleasure. "Go and have a shower, will you. And if you've collected any passengers, I don't want to know about them. Even talking about fleas is making me scratch," he added, unaware that he had been demonstrating the fact for several seconds.

"Cheers. Listen, you start breakfast, I'll finish it off. We'll be able to get our heads down quicker that way. What time is it?' Doyle added, his expression undergoing a radical change as he realised the dismal truth. "Bloody five thirty. If those sparrows carry on chirping while I'm trying to get to sleep I'm going to blast the little bleeders," he promised. Already en route to the bathroom he was shedding clothes as he went.

"Oy, haven't you forgotten something?" Bodie called, as Doyle made a detour to flick the stereo into life.

Still nurturing the faint hope of reforming Doyle, Bodie held out the sweater and shirt he had collected from the sofa and floor, staring accusingly at the black tee shirt swinging from his finger.

"No? Oh, yeah." Comprehension dawning, Doyle padded back to him, placed his hands on Bodie's hips and kissed him with sleepy leisure.

"That wasn't," said Bodie, struggling for severity, "what I meant."

A gentle hand gave his right buttock a final pat. "No kidding. Look on the bright side, too much perfection would get you down."

"One of these days, Raymond." The threat was an idle one. Army training had left Bodie compulsively tidy while Doyle, by hitherto unchecked inclination, favoured the lived-in look, although they had both learnt to make allowances during the months they had been living together.

Doyle poked his head back around the door. "Hell to live with am I?" he enquired solicitously.

"Always fishing for compliments, some people are. You'll do," Bodie conceded grudgingly. "Or you will do once I get you licked into shape."

The sound of the string quartet faded sweetly. Not realising it was a break in the recording Bodie went and turned over the LP before he closed the window.

Doyle, who had been watching his absent-minded actions with an affectionate grin, offered one of his rare, slow smiles. Propped against the door jamb he rubbed a bare forearm. "I like the idea of being licked into shape. The only thing is, you'll have to give the marmalade a miss this morning, it made the hair on my chest all sticky."

"Marmalade?" Bodie's disdain was supreme. "After the graft we've put in I want something a damn sight more substantial than orange peel to keep me going. I'm going to have a fry-up - sausage, bacon, eggs, tomatoes and anything else I can find."

Doyle sighed, having conceded defeat with regard to Bodie's eating habits. "It's disgusting this time of day," he said loftily. "With all that cholesterol clogging up your arteries the only wonder is how you keep running so smoothly."

"Natural superiority?" suggested Bodie smugly, dodging a balled-up sock as Doyle disappeared to have his shower.

 

Wandering back into the kitchen ten minutes later Doyle took a deep, appreciative sniff and looked around expectantly.

"Toast, you said," Bodie reminded. Yawning hugely, he blinked blearily at the soggy tea bag he was dredging from his mug.

"Sod. Lying sod," Doyle amended, having investigated the contents of the frying pan. "There's enough for four in there. Which is just as well because I'm starving."

To Bodie's jaundiced eye his mate looked appalling vivacious, energy levels replenished by his shower. Rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin he told Doyle as much.

"Well go and see if it does the same for you, I'll finish this. It won't get burnt that way," Doyle added provocatively, but Bodie had already wandered out of the door.

More than half asleep, Bodie was hauling on a towelling robe, his taste buds anticipating a meal they would have the leisure to appreciate, when he heard the telephone ring. He was already half-dressed by the time Doyle stuck his head around the door.

 

"So what the hell does Cowley want us for?" Bodie demanded irritably, his mind on his abandoned breakfast and the inviting bed awaiting him after twenty-two event-filled hours.

"How should I know?" demanded Doyle rhetorically. Loping along beside Bodie his spirits were undiminished by the rain, his partner's complaints or the fact that, as Bodie had morosely suggested, they were the only idiots awake this early on a Sunday morning. "Betty just said to get in quick."

"So you did," agreed Bodie, sparing Doyle a sour look as he remembered their hair-raising journey into work on never more than three wheels. "I wonder we didn't get arrested."

"They couldn't keep up with us, could they?" Doyle took a histrionic sniff. "Get a good lung full of that air, all fresh and sweet," he added lyrically.

Bodie groaned. "Why can't you be miserable like normal people at six fifteen on a Sunday morning," he complained as they paused outside the main doors to CI5. "It's disgusting being this perky."

"Sorry," said Doyle with a cheerful lack of candour. Squeezing past Bodie into the musty warmth of the security area, he made a strangled sound as Bodie's hand, perfectly shielded from view by his own body, flicked between his parted thighs and up the cleft of his buttocks.

"Oh no, not you two," complained a hoarse voice.

Doyle's scowl having been all Bodie had hoped for, his own expression was bland as warm milk. "It hurts me more than it does you, Sam. Many in yet?"

"You're among the first, but I've been told to expect a full house," said Sam Graves thickly, having spent the last two days nursing a ferocious head cold.

"Morning, Sam. How's the cold?" Doyle was all suspect solicitude. "What you need is a - "

"Not now, sunshine," said Bodie, correctly interpreting the murderous glare in the security guard's watering eyes

"Take him away before I forget myself and breathe all over him," commanded the guard in a long-suffering voice. "I dunno what's been wrong with him these last few months. You sure someone hasn't dumped a double on us when you weren't looking?"

Bristling with health and vivacity, Doyle gave him a wounded look. "Sam, to hear you anyone would think - "

Grinning, Bodie fixed his hand in the back of Doyle's collar and hauled him away mid-sentence. "Come on, you, let's go and find the Old Man. He'll soon put the mockers on all this cheer. See, I told you," he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the sneezing guard. "What happened to the rat-like little sod I know and love?"

"He probably ascended to the higher plane," said Doyle soulfully. "Make the most of - " One of his swinging hands collided, knuckles-first, with the edge of the door jamb and he swore volubly.

"That's more like it," said Bodie, brightening. He paused at the lift doors, only to find himself being dragged away.

"Stairs," said Doyle, his voice muffled as he sucked his reddening knuckles. "Unless you want to explain to Macklin how home cooking has added five pounds around your middle since our last refresher course?"

Sighing, Bodie trailed after him.

"Time was," he announced pathetically, "when I could use the lift when I liked, buy a McDonalds whenever I was peckish and leave the bath spotless without coming back to find it has more rings around it than Saturn. In fact, in the past, if I was really lucky, my current bird would clean the bath."

"Cunning move that," approved Doyle.

"It wasn't bad, was it," agreed Bodie complacently. "It used to work in the kitchen, too."

"Maybe that's why you never clear up out there. Well, you can forget it with me, sunbeam. And if a dirty bath offends you, use the shower."

"I tried that, got ambushed, didn't I?" said Bodie, giving Doyle a reminiscent grin.

Doyle gave a richly lewd chuckle. "Only half your luck, mate. Remember what happened to me in that bath you conned me into taking the other morning?"

Bodie's slow smile confirmed that he did. "You sure it was my suggestion?" he enquired.

Doyle's look was all severity. "Positive. It wouldn't have occurred to me," he added mendaciously. Glancing around he saw that the stairwell was deserted, the office staff unlikely to be in for at least two hours yet. "Come on, I'll race you up the stairs," he offered, and took off.

Resigned but willing, the sight of Doyle's retreating backside providing its usual incentive to the unwarranted early morning activity, Bodie chased after him.

"Getting old, my son," he said smugly, overtaking Doyle at the bottom of the third flight of stairs and only realising too late why Doyle had slowed when he cannoned into Benny.

"Oh shit."

Subsiding with more force than grace and an excess of bad language, Benny hauled himself back to the vertical, bitterly rubbing the only injured portions of his anatomy, before he gave Bodie a baleful glare.

"I might have bloody guessed it would be you. It's not fair, I've just had the Old Man on my back, now you."

Having enjoyed over three months undercover, working as a driving instructor, with the untaxable and invaluable perk of nubile pupils at his disposal, Benny was less than thrilled to be back doing what his unsympathetic colleagues called a proper day's work.

"Stop complaining, you didn't land on anything vital," Bodie dismissed. "Anyway, you should look where you're going."

"Up yours, 3.7. What's the rush anyway? It's only the Holland case."

"Again?" With a sound of disgust, Bodie rammed his hands in his jacket pockets. "Cheers."

"My pleasure," said Benny cordially. "How come you're so energetic? It's indecent at this time of day, particularly after the night we had of it."

"He's indecent at any time of day," offered Doyle from behind him.

Benny groaned. "I should have guessed you'd be lurking in the background. How you doing, Ray? I haven't set eyes on you in an age. What the hell have you been doing to yourself while I've been away?" he demanded, with all his usual subtlety of delivery, not having seen the other man since Doyle's discharge from hospital.

Doyle raised a surprised eyebrow. "Not a lot," he said, refraining from so much as glancing in Bodie's direction.

Benny gave a derisive snort. "You what? Come off it. No one's entitled to look this chirpy working for George Cowley. It makes the rest of us look inefficient. Don't," he warned, "say the obvious. Still, last time I clapped eyes on you I thought you'd be going out feet first. You been taking rejuvenating pills or something? Nah, you can't have done," he answered him, giving Doyle a critical once-over, "your hair's still grey."

"Or something," said Bodie firmly, "but he's having his hair streaked tomorrow morning. Ray, come on, mate, you can dust the floor with Benny any time. If we're late Cowley'll see to it that we both come out feet first."

Relaxing his mock-aggressive stance, Doyle looked pathetically up the two steps advantage in height Bodie had taken. "You never let me have any fun. I tell you what, Benny, Bodie could do with a few driving tips. If we get any time off, how about meeting up in the Red Lion after eight? You can buy us a drink," he added persuasively.

Benny's reply floated up the next flight of stairs after them.

"Or something," scoffed Doyle as he and Bodie strolled sedately down the corridor to Cowley's office.

"Maybe I should offer myself to the National Health," said Bodie, always a believer in taking credit where it was due.

"I'm not having you donating your body to Science until I've finished with it," Doyle told him firmly. He brought the discussion to a close by knocking briskly on Cowley's door.

oOo

"What day is it?" asked Bodie weakly, just about finding the energy to sip from his beaker of tea.

Balanced on the base of his spine on a sagging armchair, Doyle thought about it. "Tuesday, I think. Don't fall asleep on me, sunshine. If Benny's taken them through, we've got the interrogations to go yet - for all the good it'll do."

"Gosh." Underwhelmed, Bodie gave a vast yawn and slid full length along the sofa, closing his red-rimmed eyes. "Give us a shout when you're ready," he muttered.

Except for themselves, the rest room was deserted. Within moments Doyle heard the sound of even breathing and gave a resigned grin. By the time he had finished his own tea he could hear the distant sounds of feet outside.

Probably Benny's, he thought unfairly, casting what was meant to be a swift glance at Bodie's sleeping face. The interrogations, despite the hours that had been wasted on this case over the last three months, were unlikely to be of much help. Pushers and middle-men were all they had landed so there would be no point in waking Bodie to do his stint unless any interesting surfaced.

Heaving a resigned sigh Doyle struggled tiredly to his feet. The rest room door being flung open in his face made him step back a pace to avoid Benny, who was beaming at him in a way Doyle had learnt to distrust.

"You're in Interrogation Room one - for all the good it'll do you. Jax is in two, Dave and Ruth in three. What a bloody waste of time. Oh, and just to cheer you up, word came in from Interpol that Holland's been spotted sunning himself in his Spanish villa. Yeah, I thought you'd be as thrilled as the rest of us. Right, well I can't stand here chatting with you all day, I'm off for a well-deserved kip. You look knackered, You should try getting some sleep yourself."

He was gone again before Doyle could think of a suitable retort. Muttering under his breath he opened the door again.

"What about me, then?" enquired a sleepy voice. "Spurning my valuable assistance are you?"

"I thought you were asleep," explained Doyle, unnecessarily.

"And you weren't going to wake me up?" Bodie paused to consider the phenomenon. "You must be sickening for something," he decided.

Ambling back to the sofa, peering over the top of it, Doyle nodded. "Very likely. But there's no point in both of us wasting our time, is there?"

"True."

"Do you mean you're just going to let me do it?" said Doyle with a trace of indignation. "With not so much as a token protest?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, sunshine. My mum told me never to contradict my elders." Completely comfortable, stretched the length of the sofa, his hands clasped over his middle, Bodie gave a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes.

"I'll remind you of that later," Doyle promised darkly.

One eye opened, then two. "All mouth and trousers, you are," dismissed Bodie with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"That's what - " Doyle broke off what he had been about to say, straightening as the door was flung open behind him.

"Doyle, if you were on your way to interrogate Walker, don't bother," snapped Cowley.

Turning, Doyle gave him a blank stare. "Any particular reason why not, sir?" he asked with caution, realising that in this mood Cowley was likely to take the anger out on the first available person, namely himself.

"Diplomatic immunity," said Cowley tersely, and at the glare that accompanied the announcement, Doyle swallowed his disbelief.

"Diplomatic immunity, damn them! And what we've got left to show for this investigation wouldn't - Och, you may as well go home. I've no further use for you. And if you can wake up Sleeping Beauty behind you, you can take him with you."

"Uh, thank you, sir."

Cowley swung round at the door, his expression relaxing a little when he took in the tired, but otherwise serene figure in front of him.

"You and Bodie did a good job on this one. In lieu of any information to the contrary, I presume you would like this back," he added, fishing in a pocket and handing over a somewhat crumpled piece of paper.

Unfolding it, Doyle squinted at it for a moment, before glancing up, looking self-conscious; it was his resignation, dated over three months ago.

"Thanks," he said lamely, offering a weak gesture of his hand. "I intended to withdraw this but I forgot what with one thing and - er - another."

It was, he remembered virtuously, all Bodie's fault for coming home and driving all coherent thought out of his head. Now didn’t seem the moment to elaborate.

"I gathered that much, and if this untypical absent-mindedness had shown signs of invading your work I would have had something more to say. However, I had expected that common courtesy might have led you to see me," Cowley added pointedly, concealing his amusement at the look of consternation Doyle was too tired to conceal. "Still, I'm glad you resolved your problems," he added. He had known that must have happened when Bodie, lying through his teeth but looking happier than he had ever seen him, asked if he and Doyle could share a flat. The pair of them had never worked better together and except for a certain lack of abrasive tension between them, he had been unable to spot any difference in their working manner towards each other, or anyone else. Although why he should have expected any he wasn't prepared to consider.

Closing his mouth in a hurry under Cowley's bland gaze and uneasily aware of Bodie - hitherto blissfully unaware that his partner had ever reached the state of pathos when he had resigned - listening to every word behind him, Doyle nodded.

"Well, don't just stand there like a gaffed fish, go home and get some sleep, man. But just remember, the next time you think of resigning I might just take you up on it!"

Cowley heard the small sound of surprise that came from the direction of the sofa, which Doyle had been blocking with his body and left, satisfied that Bodie would deal with Doyle.

Hauling himself upright, Bodie peered over the back of the sofa. "Resignation?" he enquired silkily, looking disconcertingly alert.

"Yeah, well, it seemed a good idea at the time," offered Doyle lamely.

"Oh, when was that then?" Bodie was prepared to make an educated guess. He still didn’t enjoy the memory of what he had unwittingly done to Ray.

"You know bloody well when it was," said Doyle with spirit. "I just forgot to mention it that's all. It could happen to anyone."

"When?" repeated Bodie, unconvinced.

"When I got out of hospital," said Doyle with resignation, as he propped himself against the wall. "But Cowley got me to agree to work out my period of notice. I realised how stupid I’d been even before you came back to London. I meant to withdraw it, but I forgot all about it, what with one thing and another."

"Forgot? How can anyone forget they've resigned?" demanded Bodie, leaving the sofa in one supple movement.

Eyeing him warily, mistrusting the gleam in the blue eyes, Doyle allowed him to approach within a couple of feet before he opened the door, sliding out into the corridor and relying on publicity to keep him from harm.

"The reason I forgot, you dumb crud, is because you came home again," he said with a trace of asperity.

"Oh." Sometimes - not very often now - the knowledge of his own importance to the man who had always seemed so self-sufficient, took Bodie's breath away.

"Yes, _oh_ ," said Doyle indulgently, nudging him forwards. "Now, if you've finished laying your mean and moody act on me, can we go home to bed? I'm cream-crackered."

A hand caught him by the wrist. "We can, if we use the lift. But," Bodie added, pushing Doyle inside, "if you think this is the last you've heard about it, you're mistaken."

Resigned, Doyle half-listened to the lecture which saw them out the lift, past the security guard and into the car park.

"...Of all the bloody stupid stunts to pull that has to take the - Are you even listening to me?" Bodie demanded, as they paused beside their car.

Careless of who might be watching, Doyle gave him a sleepy, loving smile and shook his head.

"That's what I thought," admitted Bodie, resigned. "Come on, Trouble." Unlocking the door, he straightened to stare across the car roof. "You can spend the journey thinking about what you're going to tell the Cow about the pair of us. We'll have to come clean sometime," he added unenthusiastically, "and if you think I'm going to be the one to -

"What did you say?" Bodie added in a strangled squeak.

"He already knows," repeated Doyle, disappearing into the car. Bodie wasted little time in joining him, shutting the door very quietly. Even in the gloom Doyle could sense the glare being directed his way. Pulling a face, he switched on the interior light. "Come on, get it off your chest. I know, I'm a stupid, loose-mouthed prat and - ?"

Bodie smiled, switched off the light and gave him a brief pat on the knee. "I'll have a word with you after we've had a kip," he promised. "I don't think I feel strong enough at the moment. But when I do I'll make bloody sure I have your complete attention, right?"

Doyle relaxed back in his seat, and propped a foot on the dashboard. "Anything you say, dear," he offered meekly. He grinned at the road ahead of them as Bodie accelerated out of the car park faster than he had intended.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First draft completed February 1984
> 
>  
> 
> Rewritten zine version completed April 1999
> 
>  
> 
> Author's Note
> 
> The circuit version of _Strange Days Indeed_ began life back in 1983; it owed its existence, much of its plot-line and characters to an existing circuit story called _Remember Angola_ , written by an as then unknown-to-me author. There was a certain frustration with the way the story had been developed, leading to many ‘what if’ discussions with friends regarding the various unexplored possibilities.
> 
> Rob, whom I owed a birthday story, asked that I retell the story along the lines we had discussed - a request I couldn’t resist because the story intrigued me so much. The only way I could tackle that was to rework _Remember Angola_ from the first line onwards, while retaining the original plot, characters and much of the prose. The story grew into a novel of approximately 70,000 words, called _Strange Days Indeed_. The story was circulated to a small group of friends in England and one in America, the latter with a note asking that the story not be circulated because of its history.
> 
> A couple of months later I read in the Australian newsletter _THE_ how much a fan in Japan had enjoyed _Strange Days Indeed_ , followed by another fan in Canada. Obviously there was no point trying to re-call _Strange Days Indeed_ , so I tried to ensure people were aware of its origins. It was at this point that I renewed my efforts to find out who had written Remember Angola. I learnt her name; she had dropped out of fandom some years before, and had since died.
> 
> Time passed and I was so busy on other writing projects that I didn’t give _Strange Days Indeed_ another thought, let alone realise how many versions were going round the various circuits, minus any explanation or the story’s genesis, or acknowledgement that it was a remodelled version of someone else’s story.
> 
> In 1998, while having a spring-clean, I found masses of notes for unwritten Pros stories. One set were a copy of _Strange Days Indeed_ with a lot of new materal towards the end. Because I’d always been dissatisfied with how my original version ended, I worked on the revisions. This is the result. While _Strange Days Indeed_ has changed, the debt it owes to _Remember Angola_ and its author remains.


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